


Foe Yay

by ILoveTeamFortressToo



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Fluff, Foe Yay, Further warnings in the first chapter, Gen, Gratuitous Violence, Humour, Obsession, Plenty of swearing, Some chapters are illustrated, Spy is a dick, Stalking, Team Bonding, UST, complete fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 56
Words: 182,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3585978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILoveTeamFortressToo/pseuds/ILoveTeamFortressToo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumour has it that one of the RED team’s new members is going to be an Australian. The BLU Spy really isn't looking forward to having to try and murder someone like Saxton Hale everyday. However, when the new man arrives, he’s not what the Spy’s expecting. Not at all. He’s going to be far more fun to kill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misinterpreting the News

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is now complete.  
> While it is not an M-rated fic, Foe Yay does touch upon/discuss some more sensitive or mature topics at points, including period-typical racism and sexism, sexual assault, child abuse and attempted suicide. If you are a younger teen, or if any of this things are triggers or delicate issues for you, please proceed with due caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by [ Bearibee](http://bearibee.tumblr.com/)  
> 

**Foe Yay**

** **

 

'You heard what Scout's been running around telling everybody, Spy?'

The BLU Spy looked up from his cigarette case. The Engineer was always doing this, trying to engage him in conversation. He really didn't know why the man bothered. The Spy wasn't known for being friendly, even with his own team.

'No, I have not. I've never known anything he wishes to share to be worth listening to.'

'Well, it might just be this time.' The Engineer had a faintly smug look on his face. It was the type that you saw when someone knew something you didn't and was enjoying holding it over you. The Spy would know, it was practically his default expression.

He snapped the disguise case in his hand closed and tucked it away into his jacket. That was as long as it took for the Engineer to give in and tell him.

'He says he overheard the RED Spy and Medic talking about the new replacements they're getting.'

The BLU Spy kept a bored expression fixed on his face, hiding his interest.

Mercenaries here weren't replaced often. It was even more unusual for it to be two at once, as was the case with the RED team. Their Heavy's contract expired at midnight, and an unfortunate glitch in respawn had left their Sniper permanently crippled just last week. Their replacements were to arrive the very next day, and the Spy would be happy to get any information he could on them in advance. Pity it sounded as though the rest of the base already knew. He hated being out of the loop.

'Says that he heard them saying one's Australian,' the Engineer continued.

The Spy's eyes widened in horror for a second, before he managed to make himself go back to looking bored. 'No prizes for guessing which role he'll be filling then,' he said.

The Engineer frowned. He'd been hoping for more of a reaction. 'Yeah,' he said, 'and an Australian Heavy is the last thing we need! He'll probably take one look at us, throw down his damn mini gun and punch us all to death.' He shuddered at the thought. 'Imagine being spawn camped by an Australian! Doubt any of us'll ever get hold of the intelligence again, once RED's got an Ozy on their side.'

'We shall see, the Spy replied non-committally, 'We shall see.'

He didn't say it out loud, but this was very bad news indeed. Thanks to Australium, every man from Down Under he'd ever came across had probably been strong and fast enough to punch him all the way back to France.

He nodded to the Engineer in way of a goodbye, and slunk out of the room. The Engineer stood there, looking annoyed. He'd had a lot more on the subject that he'd wanted to talk about.

__Damn Spies.__

 

The Spy reached for his cigarette case as soon as he left. He certainly needed one.

__There's going to be an Australian on the RED team, an Australian!_ _

He could only hope that the RED's new Sniper would useless enough to make up for it. And that he really enjoyed getting stabbed in the back.


	2. Nyet, Ni Nada

The next day, the BLU team were understandably nervous. New members of the opposite team were always unknown quantities, but an Australian Heavy? That was going to be something else entirely.

As they waited for the match to start, the Medic complained that it was hardly worth building up an ÜberCharge, as the Australian would probably kick him halfway across the country before he ever got a chance to deploy it. The rest of the team seemed to share his same fatalistic attitude. Personally, the Spy wasn't as worried. Though that may have been mostly down to the fact that, despite all their super-enhanced fighting abilities, he was pretty sure Australians couldn't see invisible people. He was just going to make sure he stayed permanently cloaked whenever the new RED Heavy was about. Besides, he had a new Sniper to harass, and that was always fun. He hoped the man would be able to put up more of a fight than RED's last one.

The Administrator's imperious voice blared out of the speakers above, informing them that the battle had begun. The team glanced around, giving each other one final, doomed look. The Spy sighed and slipped past them, already cloaked. As he left he heard their Scout saying, 'You know, if he rips my legs off or something, I might not be able to get the intelligence as fast as usual. Just saying.'

Deciding he might as well go and have a look at the man who'd likely be using all their heads as footballs soon, the Spy headed straight for the RED base. He was currently working at Double Cross and the bridge between the two bases made for a convenient, if dangerous route. The Spy slipped behind the wooden crates part way across to let his cloak recharge. The over-enthusiastic RED Scout ran past him as he waited, hollering out a challenge. It was answered by a rocket to the face a few seconds later, if the sounds from behind the Spy were anything to go by.

He moved on, reaching the enemy base just in time to hear the spin up of a minigun. The Spy flattened himself against the painted wooden boards of the RED base in panic. Their Demoman and Soldier charged past him and he had to resist the urge to go after them for a couple of easy backstabs. Instead, he double-checked that he was still cloaked and peered around the corner.

There stood a massive bear of a man, a mini gun whirring in his huge hands.

The Australian.

He was talking to the Medic behind him.

'Nyet, ni nada, Doctor, I have this.'

'Well, if you are sure, let's go get them!'

'Da, Doctor!'

And then they too ran past the Spy's hiding place.

He stared after them, a look of surprise on his invisible face. That Heavy had sounded awfully a lot like a Russian for an Australian.

For a moment the Spy felt incredulous; his information was never wrong! Then he remembered that it had come from the Scout.

Besides, it was a good thing this one time that he'd ended up with false information. The Russian Heavy looked as though he was going to a tough one for the amateurs the Spy had to call colleagues to take down, but he was no Australian.

They weren't doomed after all.

Though eager to head back and tell everybody that the Scout had been lying to them, the Spy paused. With the enemy Scout still in respawn, and another four members of the team on the attack, their intelligence would be vulnerable.

 

One dead Engineer and a couple of sapped buildings later, he had the briefcase. Grinning, he headed back to the base, working out how best to mock his teammates for being so afraid of the fictional Australian Heavy. Because it wasn't like he'd been been even the slightest bit worried himself. Of course not. That would have been unprofessional.


	3. Meet the Australian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the basics of Double Cross being the same as the in-game map. However, in this story the location is actually much bigger and more sprawling, with lots of extra little nooks and crannies to hide in. Also, the three intelligence briefcases are scattered in different locations to make things more complicated. After all, I need a way of making a round that would last about half an hour at most to stretch out over several hours. I'm all about the hyper realism here :P
> 
> This chapter now has art by the awesome [leoleoteterev](http://leoleoteterev.tumblr.com/post/158029955620/%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D1%82-%D0%BA-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D1%84%D0%B8%D0%BA%D1%83-foe-yay-%D0%B0%D0%B2%D1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B2%D0%B0) (Click link for rebloggable version!)

He'd managed to get hold of the intelligence in record time, everybody was mad at the Scout, and there was no Australian Heavy to fight. Overall, things were going well for the Spy as he made his way back out of the BLU base.

The BLU Soldier in front of him was mid battle-cry when something whizzed through the air and skewered him through the throat. It hit him with such force that he ended up pinned to the wall behind him.

It was a good thing the Spy had been cloaked, else that could have been him. He slunk over to have a look at what had killed his teammate.

___Odd. Is that an arrow?__ _

Sometimes new people brought their own personal specialisations to their classes. His own Medic had a thing for crossbows, and he'd once worked on a team with a Scout who was an expert in unarmed combat. But someone using a bow and arrow was stranger than either of those. Who brings a bow and arrow to a gun, flamethrower and rocket fight?

___Ah.___

___The new Sniper.__ _

The Spy looked across at the enemy base, trying to gauge where the attack must have come from.

Time to go pay their new Sniper a little visit.

 

It took him two deaths, one near-miss with the enemy Demoman, and a couple of opportune back stabs, before he finally located the man he was after.

He watched the Sniper at his post, trying to gather as much information as he could before killing him.

He was a lean man, and maybe a little taller than the Spy himself. For some reason he was wearing a battered old slouch hat. It amused the Spy. Weren't they known for their links to the Australian army?

The Sniper glanced around briefly before peering back out of the window he'd stationed himself at. The Spy got an impression of a  serious-looking face, dark sideburns and orange-tinted glasses.

A bow wielding Sniper who needed glasses and wore Australian headgear? This certainly was an odd one. Looks wise though, he was an improvement on the balding, heavy-set American he'd replaced. The Spy wondered what nationality this man might be. Probably another American.

He listened in closely as the Snipern muttered to himself over a missed shot.

___Wait. No, he couldn't be...__ _

The Sniper pulled the bow taut and released an arrow with one, fluid movement. There was an answering scream from somewhere over at the BLU base. The Sniper laughed. It was a low, rumbling noise the Spy decided he'd quite like to hear again sometime.

Then he spoke.

'Well, that's what you get for standing still, mate.'

The Spy couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing.

Startled, the Sniper swung around, his hand was already on the hilt of the kukri at his belt.

The Spy remained cloaked.

'Who was that? What are you laughing at?' the Sniper demanded, his eyes narrowed behind his aviators.

The Spy chuckled again. He wasn't afraid he might give away his position; he had quite the talent for throwing his voice and this was the Sniper's first encounter with an invisible opponent.

'You. I'm laughing at you, Monsieur.'

The Sniper yanked his kukri out of its sheaf and glared around the room.

'What's so funny about me then, mate?'

'You're an Australian, aren't you?'

The Sniper shifted and tightened his grip on the knife.

'Yeah. What of it?'

'Well...' Here the Spy laughed again. 'You aren't quite what I would expect of an Australian, my friend.' There was a mocking note behind his words that he didn't try to hide.

The Sniper made a sound that was close to a growl and said, 'Course not. You were expecting, what? Some bloke who's six-foot-four and full of muscles?'

'With a moustache and chest hair in the shape of your continent, of course,' the Spy added with a Cheshire cat grin.

'Well, aren't you the ignorant one?'

The Spy's grin faded.

'I mean, whoever's stupid enough to go believing all stereotypes are true like that? Next you're going to be telling me all Englishmen sit around having tea with the Queen!'

Scowling, and trying to swing things back in his favour, the Spy replied, 'You know, I get the feeling that I've touched a nerve here. Have I stepped into rather sensitive territory, comparing you to what the rest of the world believes a  _true_ Australian to be?'

'No,' the Sniper spat back, too quickly.

He tilted his kukri so that the light glinted off it menacingly, 'It's just that I get this a lot and I can't say I've got any more patient about it than I was the first a hundred times. Whoever, and wherever the hell you are, come out of hiding and face me like a man, or piss off. I haven't got time for bastards like you, I've got a job to do!'

'Very well...'

The Spy uncloaked in the doorway and shot him in the hand. The Sniper gave a shout of pain and dropped his kukri. He clapped a hand over the entry wound and hunched his shoulders defensively, all while muttering a string of expletives and insults under his breath.

'Oh fucking god you freaking mask wearing freak fucking weirdo bastard BLU asshole!

The Spy tutted, shaking his head in mock-disapproval. 'My, such language! What would your mother have to say about that?' As he spoke he stepped in closer. The Sniper glared at him and moved away from the Spy until his lower back met the edge of the window behind him.

'You are going to have to get used to it, you know. Getting shot, I mean. Because it's going to happen again and again and again.'

With that he gave the Sniper one last mocking smile and levelled his Ambassador.

The Sniper exploded.

'My suit!' The Spy stared down at himself, spattered with blood and gore. He blinked blankly at the space the Sniper had been in, the space were only parts of him now remained.

Then what had just happened gradually sunk in.

'Soldier, watch where you're aiming those things!' the Spy shouted out the window. In the distance he saw a flash of light as another rocket headed his way.

 _ _ _'The idiot! He thinks I'm a RED!'___ the Spy realised as he threw himself out of the way.

The man was a fool. A fool who'd stolen his kill at the last minute and left him covered in... in... It didn't really bare thinking about. The worst of it would fade away when respawn claimed the Sniper's body, but the machine always seemed to leave behind some bloodstains.

Unfortunately for the Spy, not everyone on the battlefield was as stupid as his team's Soldier. The enemy Pyro appeared behind him, attracted by his shouting, and torched him on the spot.

The Spy reappeared in the respawn room fifteen minutes later. Though respawn always dulled the memories of the last few moments of a death, he could swear he could still smell burning flesh.

He set straight back out in search of the Sniper. The Spy hated it when his kills were stolen, and since he couldn't get his own back on the Soldier, he'd just take it out on the RED Sniper. And possibly the RED Pyro too.

Once again, the Sniper proved difficult to find. It made sense though, he was new to the battleground and would want to be off exploring it. Eventually he'd work out the best sniping spots, and then both his and the Spy's jobs would be much easier.

He passed by the enemy Heavy and Medic, resisting the temptation to back stab the oblivious duo. He had an idea about how best to handle them, and for once it was a plan of his that involved less stabbing than usual, not more. He would leave them alone. For now.

He found the Sniper on top of rickety old wooden outpost. He was perched on the end of it like an owl, apparently unafraid of the the long fall and grizzly death he'd face if he were to slip off the edge. Or if he were pushed.

Though the Spy's shoes looked like normal smart business shoes, the soles of them were soft rubber. There were no tell-tale sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards as he approached.

Usually this would be back stabbing time, but then the Sniper would most likely die before he fell. And that wouldn't be nearly as much fun.

It really didn't take much at all, just two hands to the middle of the Sniper's back and one little shove. His useless flailing and startled scream were enough to make the Spy laugh as he watched his enemy fall to his death. The distant thud as he hit the ground was entertaining too.


	4. Complementary Backstabs

Much to the Spy's disappointment, he didn't get to kill the Sniper again that day. However, this was Double Cross. For reasons unknown to all but the Administrator, matches at this particular base started at two in the afternoon and went on until midnight.

Once night fell, then the Spy was really in his element. The main areas of the base were well lit, but the smaller, more distant rooms and routes were not. The Spy slunk through the darkness, invisible even when uncloaked. He knew all the secret little paths between buildings and hidden rooms. The new Sniper didn't.

The Spy found him a distance away from the spot he'd last killed him in. This one was also a good deal closer to the ground. Obviously falling to his death wasn't something the RED Sniper wanted to experience again anytime soon.

He was perched on an old crate, his eyes fixed on the bridge across from him. There was an arrow nocked ready in his bow as he watched for a flash of blue. Clearly he thought he'd found a safe little nest because he didn't glance around to check for danger in all the time the Spy spent watching him. He'd soon learn.

The Spy eased himself around the corner, careful to avoid one particularly loose floorboard that had given away his presence a couple of times in the past

It was a very neatly done backstab, if he did say so himself. A single thrust of his knife between two of the vertebra in the Sniper's upper back, then a sharp twist to sever the nerves. The Spy pulled his knife back out and calmly wiped the worst of the blood off on the dead man's vest. As he looked at the slumped body in front of him, he wondered if the Sniper had heard the popping and crunching sound his own spine had made before he died. The Spy hoped so. This was a momentous occasion for the new RED after all, his first death by backstab.

'And here's to many more,' the Spy said, holding up his knife as though giving a toast. It glittered dimly in the light of a distant lamp, both silver and red.

 

Victory went to the BLUs that round. Afterwards, the Spy sauntered back to the teleporters that would take him to the BLU base, with a smug smile on his face. It faded to a scowl however, the moment he heard arguing.

'I'm telling yah, that's what they said!'

'Lies! All lies! These ears are American, boy, they know when they're being lied to!

'No I'm not lying, you idiot! I heard it, right? I heard their Spy say they were getting an Australian!'

'That's what you get for listening to anything a frog tells you!'

'No, I told yah, man, He didn't tell me, I overheard him saying it to their Medic. Why would he lie to his own teammates about that?'

'Who knows how those filthy, non-American minds of theirs' work? It's probably a conspiracy! They're plotting World War Three! 'Australian' must be a codeword for which beach their going to invade first!'

'Man, you're nuts, you know that right?'

It was the Scout and the Soldier, of course. Most arguments in the BLU base seemed to be between them, which really was saying something. The BLU team disagreed on an awful lot of things.

The Spy decided to break things up.

'Good evening gentlemen, have I missed the meeting?'

He ignored the Scout as he muttered that half twelve at night couldn't be classed as 'evening.'

'No!' the Soldier replied, 'The meeting is to commence in five minutes exactly.'

The Spy nodded his thanks and retreated against a nearby wall to smoke. The Soldier often tried to arrange post-match meetings before they went through the teleporters, but it was rare for anybody to actually stick around for them. The only times they did was when something interesting enough happened during the round for them to want to gossip about it. So the Spy expected they might actually be getting a full turnout this time around.

He was right; in ones and twos the rest of the team turned up and no one made a move to brush past to the teleporters. Mostly it seemed to be so they could discuss the new Heavy and have a go at the Scout for trying to scare them with his talk of Australian REDs.

The Spy waited patiently until everyone's attention was fixed on the protesting Scout before peeling away from the wall and stepping into their midst.

'Actually gentlemen, it turns out the Scout was right after all, for once in his life.'

'Yeah, see? I was right, so why don't you stick that rocket launcher— Wait. What, I was?'

'There is, in fact, an Australian on the RED team.'

'Nein, herr Spy, their Heavy is a Russian. Definitely Russian.' The Medic was smirking at him, obviously thinking the Spy was losing his touch.

'I wasn't talking about their Heavy, Doctor. Tell me, did anyone else go over there to welcome their new Sniper to RED team?'

'That's fraternising with the enemy!' the Soldier shouted, completely missing the significance of what had just been said.

The Spy rolled his eyes and replied, 'Oh, I assure you that complimentary backstabs were included.'

'Are you telling us that they've got an Australian Sniper over there, of all things?' The Engineer sounded like he didn't quite believe the Spy.

'Yes. That is correct.'

The Scout looked stunned. 'You—you know what this means, guys?' His shocked expression slowly transformed into one of triumph.

'I was right! I was right all along! I told you there was going to be an Australian and you guys all just guessed it'd be the Heavy. I never said that! I Just said there'd be an Australian, that's all. God, you guys are such assholes! I mean, you've been, like, practically beating me up about this all day and I was _right._ '

He stared around at them all. If he was waiting for an apology, he was wasting his time.

The Pyro muttered something that might have been, 'Get over it,' and everything dissolved into general arguing again about who had been right or wrong.

The Spy really hoped they'd all forget about how much he himself had gloated earlier as he'd revealed that the RED Heavy was in fact a Russian.

_Speaking of which..._

'Moving on gentlemen, I was wondering what you all thought of the new Heavy. Did it look like this was his first assignment?'

Sometimes people were shuffled about, or whole teams disbanded and moved to different bases. They were always much more of a challenge to face then newcomers to the war, as they'd had time to gain experience and pick up nasty little tricks and habits.

'Oh, yeah,' the Sniper replied. The quiet Canadian didn't talk all that often, but when he did it was usually worth listening to. 'He's green for sure. Big and strong and all—I certainly wouldn't want to go one-on-one with him—but he's definitely new to all this. Barely knew one end of his minigun from the other, and was firing those little expensive bullets off like they were going out of fashion, even when there was no-one around to hit. Got more headshots on him than I think I've ever done on just one person, and I wasn't even trying.'

There were general murmurs of agreement as he talked. Most of the others were of roughly the same opinion; the RED Heavy was enthusiastic about the job, but a complete amateur.

'What about that Australian Sniper of yours though?' The Engineer asked the Spy. 'Pretty sure he got me a couple of times. And was he using a bow and arrow or something? 'Cause I swear—'

'Yes, he's using a bow. I really couldn't tell you why, but then again, who understands how an Australian's mind works?' The Spy wasn't sure how he felt about the new RED Sniper being referred to as 'his'.

'Is he like, you know, a Saxton Hale kind of guy?' the Scout asked.

The Spy laughed. 'Oh no, he's nothing of the sort. Just your average mercenary I'd say, except with a hunting bow and that terrible accent. And he's definitely new, I can tell.'

'How?' It was the Scout again, always asking too many questions.

The Spy was smugly evasive, 'Oh, we Spies have ways of knowing these things.' As he spoke, his eyes flickered over to his team's Sniper. The man was staring off into the distance and didn't appear to be paying attention to the conversation anymore. But the Spy knew he must be when he run the tips of his fingers over the two old scars on his cheek.


	5. Boom, Headshot

The new RED Sniper had survived his entire life without dying once, and then gone and got himself killed seven times in one day. That was a very odd phrase to think about.

He was just glad that not only did this 'respawn' thing exist, but it wiped the last few moments of each life from his memory. Well, sort of. Every time he'd stumbled out of the resupply room, he'd been able to recall at least vaguely what had killed him, though the pain and the distress of it all seemed oddly muted and fuzzy. Apparently it was done to help prevent them all from going mad. He could see why; if he'd been able to remember every second of being roasted alive by that 'Pyro' creature, or that one death where he'd bled out from a shrapnel wound to the gut, he'd probably have run home crying to his mum by now.

Still, it was disconcerting, this whole things. The 'war', the impossible technology, the location they were fighting in, the class-mirrored counterparts, _his teammates._ It was all so strange and surreal that it made the Sniper want to close his eyes, bury his fingers in his ears and hum loudly until the world had the decency to revert back to something that made sense.

But it wasn't about to. This was his second chance. His last chance. As weird as all this was, he was better off now than he had been before he signed the contract. Even if the terms and conditions had left him feeling more like property than a person...

 _At least they let me keep my van,_ the Sniper thought to himself as he made his way over to it, a plate of rapidly cooling dinner balanced in one hand. Apparently the RED team took it in turns to cook for each other. Tonight it'd had been the turn of the short Texan he was supposed to call 'the Engineer'. He'd felt a little guilty about taking the food and running, but he'd made sure to thank the man for it first. While it probably would have been a good idea to hang around after his first day of work for 'team bonding' or the something of that nature, the Sniper hated being around other people when they were eating. It was the chewing. That noise. He just couldn't do it. So instead he scuttled away to hole himself up inside of his van, away from everybody else.

As the Sniper tucked into his plate of mash potato, boiled vegetables, pork chops, and gravy, his mind was drawn back to the day's work. Well, 'work', it seemed more like some kind of violent game to him. The teams were too small, too evenly matched. The two bases were almost identical. Their goal of collecting three locked suitcases each was so trivial. And then there was the whole respawn thing...

The Sniper had been too lost in his own thoughts to concentrate on what he was doing, an empty fork halfway to his mouth and a dollop of mashed potato on his battered old table. He'd clean it up later.

His mind wondered off again, this time to that obnoxious man in the blue suit. Since the Sniper had moved to America, nearly everyone he'd talked to had taken the time to tell him how different he was from what they expected of Australians. Again and again he'd heard the same polite enquiries and casual disbelief. But rarely had anyone actually laughed at him for it. He glared down his at his plate and viciously speared a carrot as he thought back to his first encounter with the man who could only have been the BLU Spy. The creep had sneaked up on him, mocked him _while invisible,_ shot him and then somehow managed to manoeuvre him to exactly the right place for the BLU Soldier to kill him with a rocket.

Of course, the Sniper hadn't realised that was what had happened at the time. He'd come to after his first ever respawn feeling sick, light-headed and very confused. Evidently learning how to recognise the source of a death so instantaneous and violent that it'd splattered bits of him halfway across the room, was an acquired skill.

There were little cards though that they were given at the end of the night that neatly tallied up every death, kill and capture. That had told him the Soldier had killed him that first time, though there was a little symbol of a balaclava above the word 'assist' next to that death. The card also told him that it must have been the Spy who pushed him off that roof, as that had been his third death and he'd known exactly who had caused his second. Being cornered and toasted alive by a giggling maniac in a gas mask was the kind of thing that stuck with you, apparently.

It turned out his final death of the night had also been at the BLU Spy's hands. The Sniper had been really satisfied with his little nook there until the Spy had crept up behind him and stabbed him in the back. The memory of the actual event had faded to a vague impression of something pressing against his spine, but the whole thing had shaken him. He'd thought he'd found a really good hiding place there and then went and let his guard down. He wouldn't do that again.

 _I'm going to get that bastard tomorrow,_ the Sniper thought to himself as he sawed through a pork chop with more force than was strictly necessary.

 

* * *

 

 

'And they what?'

'Throw it at people.'

'Throw it at people?'

'Yep, that's what I said.'

The RED Engineer gave his sentry one last whack to boost it up to level three.

'Why the hell would anyone do something like that?'

'Well...' the Engineer paused to scratch at the stubbly hair under his hard hat. 'Saw our last guy put out teammates who were on fire with it a couple of times. Guess it was better than burning to death, but maybe I'm just saying that because it's never happened to me. Mostly though, they use it on the enemy. Now that's funny to watch. Especially when it's a spy.' The Engineer chuckled to himself as he though about it, and turned to work on his dispenser.

'But why throw jars of piss at them?' the RED Sniper spluttered, 'If you're that desperate to defend yourself, why not, I dunno, throw rocks instead?'

'Hmm, well, I think it's kind of like physiological warfare, you know? All, 'sticks and stones will break your bones, but jarate will leave deep emotional scars that will never leave you.''

The Sniper glanced up from his rifle sight as he thought about that.

'Yeah, I guess I see what you mean. And I get the whole uh, needing something to pee in if you're on a long stakeout. Can't risk losing your mark thanks to bathroom breaks, or leaving evidence you were there by just going anywhere. Still, a strong bladder's usually all you really need...'

'Most Sniper's take these pill things. Does something to their kidneys that makes them piss more.'

The RED Sniper pulled a face at the idea and muttered, 'All sounds bloody unprofessional if you ask me.'

'Think the Jarate pills are Australian made, you know,' the Engineer added conversationally as he used the last of his metal to get the dispenser up to level two.

'Oh, right,' the Sniper replied vaguely, pressing his eye back to his scope. It had been a while since he'd had a chance to use any of his weapons, so he'd decided to cycle through each of his rifles and bows until he found the one he could slip back into using the easiest.

A strange flicker caught his attention.

_Is that what I think it is?_

He took the shot.

'Yes! Got you, you smarmy suit-wearing bastard!'

'The Spy?' the Engineer guessed.

'Oh yes. That's payback for yesterday. Saw him—what do you call it, decloak? Idiot must have thought he was out of sight, but I got him!'

The Engineer laughed. 'Well, I just gotta say, make the most of shots like that while you can 'cos he's gonna be at your back from here on out. Spies are a nightmare, period, but they're even worse for the likes of you and me. And that particular Spy? Seems to really have it out for Snipers. Makes a real cat and mouse game of it.'

The Sniper wasn't exactly finding any of this reassuring. He shifted his position irritably, scowling down his scope. 'I can take care of myself, mate.'

'Sure you can.'

The Sniper had never been all that good at spotting when someone was being sarcastic or not, so he wasn't sure if that was a vote of confidence, or mockery.

'Right then, Sniper, I gotta move this gear up. Thanks for watching over it while I got that extra metal.'

'No problem,' the Sniper murmured, carefully tracking the BLU Scout. The little pest's movements were unpredictable, but if he shot just ahead of him there-

'Boom. Headshot.'


	6. BLU Spider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General warnings here for violence and the BLU Spy being a dick. Those two warnings will probably apply for about half the chapters from now on. Actually the second is pretty much a constant thing. This BLU Spy? He's an ass.

The Sniper could smell smoke. That wasn't surprising with all the bombs, rockets and flame throwers around, but this smoke was different. Less acrid and metallic. More like cigarette smoke really.

That was all the warning he got. It was all he needed.

The Sniper flung himself off the crate sideways and whipped back around, drawing out his kukri in one swift movement.

The BLU Spy over-committed to his strike, expecting an easy backstab. It took all his speed and reflexes to twist away from the swing that would have otherwise gutted him. He reeled back, putting a safe distance between himself and the Sniper.

The two men stood glaring at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to attempt an attack.

'You know,' the Spy spoke around a cigarette, 'Snipers always seem to pick the biggest knives they can. It's like your whole class feels the need to compensate for something. But I've never seen anyone goes as far as to bring a machete on to the battlefield...' he trailed away, letting his expression do the rest of the talking.

The Sniper scowled at him. Either he missed the implication, or he chose to ignore it. 'It's not a machete, it's a kukri. I use it because it's practical. Really useful for chopping things up.' He swiped it through the air menacingly in demonstration.

The Spy lunged forward with his butterfly knife, aiming for the opening the Sniper had unwittingly left. The Sniper took an instinctive step back, sweeping the kukri back up to defend himself.

Immediately the Spy darted back out of range and began circling his opponent, waiting for another chance to strike. The Sniper followed his movements warily. A rocket went off nearby, distracting him for a second. The Spy wasted no time in pressing his advantage again, but the Sniper was ready for him this time.

The Spy gave a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, his right arm almost severed by a single slash of the kukri. His own knife clattered to the ground and the Sniper stepped over it as he cornered the retreating Spy.

'Told you it was good for for chopping, mate.'

He finished it with one quick stab to the chest that the Spy was unable to avoid. The BLU crumpled to the floor, a steadily growing puddle of blood extinguishing the cigarette that had fallen out of his mouth as he died.

The Sniper stared down at the body silently. He didn't mutter congratulations to himself as might have done had he shot the man. Instead he just kept watching until respawn took the remains away.

It was just different somehow, killing someone up close. Maybe it was something to do with the added violence of it. Or maybe it was more to do with the fact that he'd only ever killed two other people with a knife before, and those events were the two worst memories of his life.

Once all that was left was a splatter of blood and a squashed cigarette, the Sniper left the room. He didn't think he'd be returning to this particular sniping spot for quite some time. Didn't think he'd be much use to his team for a while yet either, not with the way he was still shaking.

 

That was two times the Sniper had got him so far today; two times more than he could stand. The Spy was angry. Part of his anger was aimed at himself, but most of it at the Sniper. He wanted revenge. But the Sniper would be expecting him. He'd know that the Spy wanted to get even with him and would be on the look out for another attack. It was much better to let the Sniper sweat it out. Make him wait. Make him flinch at every gust of wind and creaking floorboard. Leave him just long enough that the constant paranoia made him weary and his aim poor. In the outside world, the Spy would usually wait even longer than that, until his prey had let down their defences and fooled themselves into believing he wasn't coming. Then he'd strike. But cooped up together as they were here, the Sniper would know it was coming in the end, one way or another. It was just a question of when.

The Spy was still angry though. He was being good, in not charging straight back out of respawn and after the Sniper. He would let himself have a little reward for that. A little indulgence. Something to take his mind of his frustration. He cloaked and moved on, a plan already in mind.

 

They called the network of tunnels 'the sewers'. It wasn't an accurate description really, that's just what the mercenaries always nicknamed any of the watery short-cuts and underground places at the different bases. In all honesty, these ones could have been part of a sewer works at some time, no one knew and no one really cared. These days they were just a network of concrete pipes and pointless little rooms filled with stagnant water. The floodlights far above reflected off the surface of the water in the entrance where the Spy lurked, crouched on a small pipe that sat just above the water line. He was invisible. He was waiting.

The Spy heard rapid splashes approaching and an unpleasant smile twisted at his thin lips. The little rabbit was running straight into the snare.

He'd watched the RED Demoman, his own class counterpart and the enemy Pyro, all run past him without making a move to go after any of them. He would have liked to backstab them all, especially the RED Pyro, who he still hadn't got proper revenge on yet. But he hadn't. Like an especially selective spider lurking in the centre of a lovingly spun web, the Spy had waited.

_Time for some fun, I think._

 

The Spy let the Scout get a couple of steps past him, just enough to leave the waterlogged tunnels and come out into the open air. The night sky sparkled pleasantly above the Scout for a moment, before the whole world lurched forward. He fell flat on his face in the damp grass, all his breath knocked out of him by the force of his fall and the weight on his back.

'What the fuck?' the Scout wheezed, trying to scramble back up again.

A hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head back on to the ground. Nothing seemed to be broken, but the pain of it left him feeling stunned for a second. But only a second. When you were a mercenary working for RED, you got used to sudden violence.

He lashed out behind him, his bony elbows striking into ribs. The man who had him pinned down gave a grunt. The Scout really must have been doing this job for too long, because that one sound was all he needed to identify his attacker.

'Fucking Spy!'

His face was introduced to the ground again.

'I'll kill you!'

And again.

'I'll—' He broke off with a small scream. His nose had broken with a sickening crack. The pain of it drove him into gear again, making him buck and wriggle beneath the Spy, kicking and flailing as he tried everything he could to heave the BLU off of him.

But the Spy was good at this sort of thing. He knew all kinds of little tricks for subduing someone once they were on the ground. Knew exactly where the right pressure points were, just how to lock an arm in place like so, and how to distribute his weight in such a manner that even a stronger individual than him would have trouble shifting him.

It wasn't long before the Scout's struggles began to grow weaker. He was a fast, high-energy fighter, but he wasn't known for his stamina. Still, he was stubborn. Even when he knew he was beaten, he couldn't just let himself give up. The Scout was going to pass out from lack of air soon, if he wasn't careful. With his constant movement, crushed lungs and bleeding nose, there wasn't enough oxygen reaching his brain. The ground seemed to be spinning beneath him and there were odd patches of colour flickering before his eyes. Maybe it would be better for him to faint now though. It'd be more merciful.

The Spy wasn't having that. Once he was sure there was no chance the Scout could be faking how exhausted he was (not that he'd ever been that good an actor anyway), the Spy got off him and roughly pushed the boy over onto his back. He lay there, spread-eagled on the dark grass, moving his head drunkenly this way and that as he tried to work out why the stars were spinning around him. Despite his dazed state he still managed to gasp out a string of swearwords. It was nothing the Spy hadn't heard before. Scouts weren't known for their expansive or imaginative vocabularies.

The Spy grinned down at the young man at his feet, the light from above making his eyes and bared teeth gleam. He waited until the Scout had recovered enough to steady his breathing and to fix the Spy with a glare. He tried to pull himself up to get away, but the Spy slammed his foot down onto the younger mercenary's chest.

Twice more the Scout tried to escape, and each time the Spy subdued him with a single strike. The terrible smile on his face never faltered for a moment.

Three escape attempts in a row was enough though. When the Scout began to move again, the Spy crouched down next to him, a gloved hand pressing into his chest. His butterfly knife was clasped in the other hand.

'Oh hell no, you asshole.' The Scout's voice was barely audible now as he stared at the silver blade in his enemy's grasp.

'Oh, hell yes,' the Spy replied in a whisper to match the Scout's.

The Scout made one final desperate attempt to escape, throwing his head back as he tried to push his elbows into the ground beneath him.

Without another word, the Spy slashed his knife across the exposed throat. Blood sprayed out in glistening ark that followed the blade through the air.

The Scout slumped back onto the ground, his eyes glassy. He wasn't dead though. Not yet. The wound wasn't deep enough to kill instantly. The Scout was going to drown to death in his own blood.

The Spy stayed to watch, savouring each little gasp and gargle as much as he did each draw on his newly-lit cigarette. When the boy finally died, the Spy put out his finished cigarette on the young man's chest and straightened back up again. His trousers were damp up to the knees from where he'd been kneeling on the grass and there was blood on his suit, but he felt much happier than he had before.

Now that he was calmer, it was time to start planning what he would do with the RED Sniper. He had an important mark he needed to leave, after all.


	7. Good Night, Sniper

The Sniper had a bad feeling about today. It wasn't based on some kind of supernatural warning or animal instinct, it was just common sense. He'd managed to kill that BLU Spy twice in a row during the last match, but hadn't caught so much as a sniff of his cigarettes after that. There'd been at least an hour and a half left before they were scheduled to stop fighting. Even though the BLU Scout had managed to get hold of their final briefcase just before then, there'd been plenty of time for the Spy to act. The Sniper had been sure that he'd at least show up during the humiliation round. It would have been a perfect opportunity for him to get revenge without having to worry about the Sniper fighting back. But still he hadn't shown himself.

The Sniper had spent his time waiting for the ceasefire hiding in some roof rafters, watching members of the triumphant BLU team cross below him, searching for his team. Whoever had come up with the idea for the humiliation rounds was sick, in the Sniper's opinion. It was was a horrible experience, being utterly unable to defend yourself while trained mercenaries gleefully hunted for you. He guessed it was done to give them an added incentive to win the rounds. All the same, it seemed to the Sniper to be the very worst thing about this strange, surreal place.

 

He made his way out of respawn at the start of the next match and headed straight for a good sniping location he'd come across the day before. It had a narrow but useful view of the main bridge and was very hard to get to. He had to find his way to a particular nondescript little room, then climb onto some old broken crates in the corner and worm his way up through a little gap in the ceiling. That lead to a small landing that had once been accessible via a staircase that had collapsed in entirely at some point. Now the Sniper's way was the only way up, as far as he knew. He thought he'd be relatively safe crouched there, taking shots through the narrow gap between two other buildings. If the Spy came after him, he was sure to hear him approach. All the Sniper had to worry about were well-aimed long-distance projectiles. The enemy Sniper might be able to get him, and the splash-damage from the Soldier could catch him, but first they'd have to spot him. The Sniper wasn't planning on letting that happen any time soon.

Still, he was anxious. He kept taking his eyes away from the scope so he could glance around the room. The Sniper kept expecting to see the shadowy figure of the BLU Spy standing behind him, no matter how often he reassured himself that he should be safe there.

He was distracted by his own worrying so often that he ended up completely missing some good opportunities to shoot the BLU, including their Scout, who had had the RED intelligence strapped to his back at the time.

It was infuriating. The more time he spent carefully peering down the barrel of his rifle, the more chance he had of killing BLUs. But every minute spent looking down his scope only increased his paranoia. The Spy was going to want revenge. The Spy was going to attack him. He didn't know where. He didn't know when. He just knew it was going to happen. Probably soon.

He was right.

The attack come from a completely unexpected angle. Which really, was exactly what he should have expected. This was the Spy after all.

There was a small noise from the roof above him. The Sniper looked up curiously, listening intently. Had a bird landed up there, or was it something else?

It was something else.

He caught sight of a blue blur just before a pair of highly-polished shoes connected with his chest. He was thrown backwards onto the wooden floorboards with a crash, his gun flying out his hand.

The Spy followed him through neatly, having swung himself through the window and straight into the Sniper. He landed in a crouch and didn't even bother standing back up before he lunged for the Sniper. Though shocked by the sudden attack and winded by the fall, the the Sniper immediately made to roll out of the way.

A hand snatched at his side and there was a harsh tug before he managed to get himself free. He scrambled back up on to his feet, feeling momentarily triumphant. He'd survived the Spy's first and second attack.

Then he saw what the Spy had in his grasp.

Instinctively, the Sniper slapped a hand against the sheath at his belt, as though he might still find his kukri there. As though there might be two identical knives in the room. As though he might still have a weapon to defend himself with.

The Spy was the triumphant one now; smug satisfaction written on every line of his face that his mask left visible.

'Well, will you look at this....' The Spy twisted the kukri in his grip, inspecting it. From the sneer he wore, he didn't seem all that impressed by it.

'Somehow I seem to have ended up with two knives, while you have none. Now, how could that have happened, I wonder?' He flicked his butterfly knife open in his left hand.

The Sniper's eyes were darting around, looking for an escape. The way he had come in was the corner behind the Spy. There was a chance the BLU might not know it was there, but the Sniper didn't fancy his chances of reaching it. Then there was the window; that was still closer to the Spy, but not by as much. That was a straight drop down three storeys or so though, and by the time he figured out how to clamber up onto the roof instead, he'd likely be sliced to shreds by the Spy. That left only the gaping hole where the stairs had once been. He risked a glance behind him, but could make out nothing down there apart from a decent drop and shards of wood sticking up from the ruins of the stairs. If he jumped down and didn't manage to kill himself doing so, he'd likely end up impaled, or break something. Either way, it was unlikely he'd be able to escape the Spy. That didn't leave much in the way of options open to him.

The Spy was going to be the death of him, one way or another.

The Spy came for him. The Sniper ducked a slash from the butterfly knife, and for a moment he was inside the Spy's guard. He was about to use that to his advantage and punch the Spy in the face when something slammed into the side of his head.

The Sniper crumpled sideways onto the floor.

There was a ringing in his ears and a pain so intense that he could barely pull a single sentient thought together. He was in danger. He needed to get up. _Danger._

He managed to get one arm underneath himself and made to push himself up. The whole world lurched around him and a sharp pain lanced through his head. He slumped back down again.

_The Spy! I need to... I need to..._

Night seemed to be falling unexpectedly fast. They should have a few more hours of light yet, shouldn't they?

The Sniper made another attempt to rise but found himself flat on his face again, with no recollection of collapsing. He could barely see now. Everything was fuzzy swimming shapes, rippling in front of him. Was he seeing the wind? No, that didn't make any sense. Why did his head feel like it had been caved in? Was that damp, sticky feeling blood? He didn't want to get blood in his hair, he'd only washed it that morning. Oh wait, that wasn't wind. It was the grain in the plank of wood beneath his face. It was all lines and faint swirls. How interesting. Why was he lying down? Why was it so dark? Didn't he have something important to do?

_The Spy!_

He needed to get up! He needed to-

The Sniper passed out.

 

The Spy stared down at the man at his feet until he was sure he'd finally stopped moving. He crouched down next to the Sniper and pulled him over onto his back. He lay there, limp and unresponsive, his sunglasses crooked and his slouch hat on the dusty floor several paces away. There was a steady trickle of blood running down the side of his face from the blow to his head. More could be found spattered across the floor from his struggle to rise, and yet more on the handle of his kukri.

It had amused the Spy to knock the Sniper unconscious with the butt of his own knife. It would have been even more amusing to slice the man to little pieces with it, but the Spy didn't want him dead. Not this time.

He sneered down at the Sniper and tore off his sunglasses, tossing them lightly away behind him. He pulled off one soft, kid leather glove and pressed his bare hand against the other man's throat. He could feel a pulse beneath his finger tips, and the gentle rise and fall of the Sniper's chest beneath his palm. Good. He was alive then.

The Spy leaned in closer and flicked a finger against the Sniper's face, just below the eye. When he'd repeated the action three times and there still wasn't as much as a twitch from the man, he pulled up one of the Sniper's eyelids. There was no resistance and the Spy let go again, but not before noticing the colour of his iris. Dark brown. He wondered why the Sniper kept his eyes covered at all times.

Having assessed that the RED was both definitely alive and thoroughly unconscious, the Spy hooked his fingers around the mercenary's jaw and gently turned the man's head to the right. With his free hand he flicked open his butterfly knife.

_Now for the fun part._


	8. The First Mark

The Sniper came around to darkness and pain. For a long time he just lay there on the floor, slipping in and out of consciousness. He knew he had to get up, but every time he got as far as piecing that thought together properly, it would slip away from him again, like water through a sieve. His whole body ached. His head was the worst though; there was a pounding pain in his temple, and the right side of his face felt raw and stinging.

At some point he managed to pull himself together enough to poke gingerly at the sticky patch under his blood-stiffened hair. He must have slid back under after that, because the next time the Sniper was aware of his surroundings again, he was woken by a voice calling for him.

'Sniper? Sniper? You here, man? Sniper?'

He frowned as he tried to work out where he knew that voice from. The motion made his face hurt more than ever.

'Sniper? Oh come on, man!'

Then it hit him. It was the Scout. The Sniper was lying there on the floor... somewhere. It was night. And the Scout was yelling his title.

The Sniper tried to shout back to him, but all that came out was a croaky sound. He tried again, but though this time he managed to produce a noise that sounded something like 'Scout', it was barely more than a whisper.

'Oh for fucks sake, where is this guy?' This time the words were muttered, and the Sniper realised the Scout must be nearby now for him to be able to hear what he was saying under his breath. He found himself panicking at the idea of the Scout wandering away without ever finding him. He needed a way to let the kid know he was there.

'Here Snipey-Snipey-Sn— Aaaahh!' The Scout broke off with a shriek as a knocking sound startled him. He froze nervously, looking around.

'Sniper?' the Scout whispered. Then catching himself, he called louder, 'Sniper? Is that you?'

Two more knocks came from nearby, then a pause, then two more. The Scout turned his head this way and that, trying to locate the noise. Then he looked up at the ceiling above him, just as there were another couple of raps on the wood.

'I'm coming, man!' He searched the room for a way up and found the collapsed staircase. For a moment he thought it must have happened today, and that it was linked to the Sniper's disappearance. But in the narrow beam of the torch he was carrying, the Scout could see that the shattered stairs were covered in dust. Right, so that probably had nothing to do with anything, but how was he supposed to get up to the Sniper?

He searched around the room and found a corner were a couple of battered crates had been shoved up against the wall. Shining his torch up into the ceiling above, he could see a ragged hole just big enough for a slim man to squeeze through.

Grumbling to himself about splinters, he clambered up onto the boxes. The Sniper hadn't made any noises for a while. He hoped that useless idiot was alright. Though if he wasn't, respawn would fix him right back up again, wouldn't it? He hoped so. They'd only just got this Sniper and no one would want to have to go to the trouble of ordering another one quite so soon.

As he pulled himself through the narrow space a horrible idea occurred to the Scout. What if this was a trap of some kind? What if it was actually the BLU Spy up there?

He hastily shone the light around the room, its beam alighting first on a battered slouch hat, then on the sprawled shape beyond it.

'Sniper?' His voice had returned to a whisper again.

The shape moved and the Scout jumped, catching his back against the side of the hole that he was still halfway through.

'Ouch! Hey, Sniper, is that you?'

'Yeah,' a faint voice replied. The figure moved again, trying to pull himself up into a sitting position. He got part way before giving up and collapsing onto his side.

'Fuck. My head hurts.'

The Scout pulled himself up into the room and turned his torch towards the other man.

'Ack! Not in my eyes!'

'Oh, sorry, man,' the Scout muttered as he approached. What he'd just seen hadn't looked promising though; the Sniper's face and hair seemed to be caked with blood.

'Pass me my hat, will you?'

The Scout wasn't exactly an expert at these kinds of things, but making demands for hats probably wasn't the kind of thing a dying man would do. There was that at least.

He plucked the battered old slouch hat of the floor and held it out to the Sniper. He groped for it, missing it entirely twice before managing to snatch it out of the Scout's hands.

'Thanks,' he muttered as he finally managed to sit up. He bowed his head forward with a groan.

'You seen my glasses?'

The Scout flicked the narrow beam of the light around the floor until he spotted them in a corner. He fetched the aviators to the Sniper and he managed to take them off him first time.

'Oh. God. And my rifle too. And my Kukri! Is my kukri here?'

'Yeah, yeah, I'll get them,' the Scout told him, rolling his eyes. The guy looked like a bad Halloween costume and all he cared about was where all his stuff was.

'Soooo...' the Scout started casually, once he'd found and returned the Sniper's weapons to him. 'What happened, man? 'Bout an hour after the match ended, Engie went around asking if any of us had seen you. Everyone said they hadn't, not for ages, which is kind of normal 'cos you're a sniper and stuff, but when you weren't in that van thing of yours and nowhere in the base, he said something might be wrong. Said he hadn't seen you once since the start of the match, and that your score card was blank. No kills, no deaths, no nothing. So he dragged us all out to look for you. That was like, and hour ago, man. We've been looking for you for ages! So, what happened?'

The Sniper waited until the Scout was done with his rant before spitting one word,

'Spy.'

'Oh. Ohhhh...'

The Sniper expected the boy to start pestering him for details. From what he'd seen of the Scout so far, he seemed like the kind to think that everybody's business was also his business. But to his surprise the Scout didn't pry any further.

'Right then, I guess we better get you back to base and stuff. Get Medic to have a look at you. Uh, can you stand?'

'I think so.' With a grunt, the Sniper managed to get one foot underneath himself, and then the other. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet. As soon as he was up, he stumbled and the Scout took a small step towards him. The Sniper waved him off and made his way carefully towards the hole in the corner.

It was embarrassing enough needing a search party sent after him during his first week on the job. He wasn't about to let a bloke hold him steady while he walked like he was some kind of invalid.

It took them a while to get back to base, the Sniper staggering along and the Scout complaining about the pace the whole time. When the Sniper got bored of it, he asked the Scout why he didn't run on ahead to tell everyone he'd been found. The Scout kicked at a stone as he walked and said something under his breath about wanting to stay with him in case the Spy was still around.

They met the Pyro and Demoman on their way back. The Demoman seemed sympathetic towards the Sniper one minute, then complained loudly about being kept up past two in the morning the next. The Sniper hunched his shoulders and mumbled an apology to the ground. It was hard to say what the Pyro's reaction was exactly, but there might have been a note of concern detectable through the gas mask.

When they finally reached the RED base, they found all the lights still on and the Medic and the Heavy waiting inside. Apparently they'd hung around just in case the Sniper found his way back to the base by himself.

The Medic took one look at the Sniper's bloody face and bit his lip. The Sniper didn't notice, but the Heavy did. He shot his new friend a confused look that was ignored. The only time he'd seen the doctor look at a wounded teammate with concern so far was when they were threatening to die on him during a crucial moment in a match.

The Medic placed a hand lightly on the Sniper's shoulder, making him flinch, and started to lead him away. 'I'm going to check Sniper over, you lot go and find Spy, Soldier and Engineer. Tell them we've got him.' The others grumbled but they all traipsed back outside again, the Heavy Weapons Guy following after them.

The Sniper hadn't been back to the medical bay since his initial check-up on his first evening there. He'd really been hoping to wait longer before making a return trip. The Medic sat him down on one of his metal gurneys with their unsubstantial foam padding. He ordered the Sniper to take off his hat and glasses as he crossed the room to fetch supplies.

As he set about carefully dabbing at the dried blood, the Sniper pulled away and said, embarrassed, 'It's okay, I can do that myself, Doc.'

'No,' the Medic said simply, continuing his work. The Sniper tried his best not to squirm away from the contact. He was used to looking after himself. So far everything that had happened this night had left him feeling like a useless child.

'You can however,' the Medic added, 'tell me what happened.'

The Sniper stared fixedly at a crack in one of the tiles on the floor. Eventually he gave the same answer as he had done earlier.

'Spy.'

However, the Medic didn't seem as satisfied with this explanation as the Scout had been. 'I can see that, Sniper. What happened? It's best you tell me.'

Ignoring the sharp stinging on the side of his face as the doctor cleaned the blood away, the Sniper let out a long sigh and said, 'There's not a lot to say. Not really. Least, I don't remember much. He jumped me. Actually came through a bloody window to get at me. Knocked my rifle away. Got my kukri off me too. Then he went for me... and then I heard the Scout shouting for me.'

'Hmmm...' the Medic replied, 'How early in the match were you attacked?'

'Um. Early. Real early. Probably not even half an hour in. I don't even remember getting knocked out.'

There was silence for a minute or so.

'Sniper,' the Medic began in a careful voice. The Sniper wasn't the most adept at reading people, but something in the Medic's tone of voice made him glance up. Their eyes met for a second before he looked away again.

'Yeah, Doc?'

'Does anywhere else hurt? Any other aches and pains?'

'Not, really, no.'

'None at all? You can tell me, Sniper.'

There was a weight to his words that mystified the Sniper. He shrugged. 'Back's a bit achey, but that's nothing new, and I did spend hours just laying on the ground and all. Floorboards aren't all that comfy, you know?'

The Medic hesitated.

'Really, Doc, I'm fine. Just got a bloody big headache from where that spook whacked me around the head. And my face feels funny when I talk. What exactly did I do to it?' He made to touch the stinging area but the doctor caught his hand.

'Don't do that! It's more a case of what the Spy did to you, rather than anything you've done yourself. And it's infected enough without you getting your grubby hands on it.'

'The Spy?' the Sniper replied bleakly. For some reason he'd assumed he'd caught himself on a splinter or scraped the side of his face along the floor at some point. Now that he knew it was something the Spy had done to him, he felt like a black hole had just opened in his stomach, sucking all the warmth from his body. In contrast, the injured area felt horribly hot. It was probably the infection doing that though.

'But you can fix it, can't you? I mean, that medigun thing of yours, that will fix it, won't it Doc?' His hands were balled up into anxious fists on his lap and he waited for the reply.

'There's a chance it won't, I'm afraid.'

'What?' The Sniper was horrified. He'd only known about the existence of the medigun for three days, but in that time he'd already begun to rely on it to be a miracle working cure-all.

'What about respawn? Couldn't you just shoot me and send me through respawn?'

The Medic shook his head. Now it was his turn to avoid the Sniper's gaze. 'They are too closely linked, and respawn can be tricky after hours. The teams have a bad habit of getting themselves killed after ceasefire, so it's always left on. By this kind of time though it's running on half-power. It wouldn't give you back to us until tomorrow morning, and any errors that might occur could easily end up being permanent. The technology isn't perfect, you know.'

The Sniper felt like that black hole in his gut was dragging all the hope out of him too now. 'But—but. I thought—I thought the medigun could fix anything?'

'Well, nearly anything, yes. It's not always able to fix fatal wound if the patient is already too far gone—'

'But this isn't a fatal wound!' If it was, he'd be dead by now, wouldn't he?'

'No, it's not. But it is an old one. Old by the medigun's standards, that is. The BLU Spy did this on purpose. He cornered you somewhere remote and knocked you out so that we'd struggle to find you, and you wouldn't be able to do anything to help yourself.'

'But why?' It didn't surprise him that the Spy would do something so calculated, but he failed to see his motivation. Then again, maybe that was his revenge for those two kills the day before. But then, why hadn't he returned the favour and killed the Sniper?

'He did it so...' the Medic sighed and looked away from him again. 'He did it so that when he marked you, it'd stay.'

'Marked me?' the Sniper replied faintly. He didn't understand what the Medic was talking about, and there was something about the him sounding almost _sympathetic_ that made the whole situation even more confusing.

'Yes. It's this... thing that spies often do. When a new Sniper joins, the enemy Spy will try and mark him. It's some kind of petty, unpleasant little game that's stemmed from the rivalry between your classes.'

The Sniper gave it some thought, putting the pieces together. 'So... That Spy set out to scar me, permanently? Just because I'm a Sniper on the opposite team to him?'

'Yes.'

'The BLU Sniper's got a couple of scars on his face too, doesn't he? Did our Spy do that?'

'No. No he did not. Their Sniper's worked with a couple of other teams before his current one, I believe. And the other mark... he wouldn't.'

There was still something the Sniper didn't understand. 'But why can't the medigun fix this? It only happened a few hours ago. They're still open wounds and all.'

'Yes, yes they are. But they're already starting to heal by themselves. Not by much of course, but your body has already begun the healing process. There's something about that that weakens the effects of the medigun. It's skin cells that it struggles with most though, so it should be able to help you out at least a little. It'll do something for the pain, and the infection.'

By now the Medic had cleaned the cuts of dried blood, leaving his bowl of water murky with it. He pulled a customised medigun attached to a moving frame away from the nearby wall and angled the muzzle towards the Sniper's face.

As soon as the Medic turned it on, the cool red vapours latched onto him. The Sniper felt the pain and tension begin to drain away from him. He slumped forward as it worked, finding himself feeling comfortably drowsy. It appeared being knocked unconscious for hours at a time really took it out of you.

When the Medic flicked the switch to shut it off again though, his left temple, and the right side of his face, prickled uncomfortably.

The doctor walked back around to have a look at him and lightly grasped the Sniper's chin in his gloved hand, turning his face one way and then the other.

'Hmm, yes. That looks like it's helped a bit. Can't be sure that the infections been entirely dealt with, so I'm going to have to leave this cut open for now. I can stitch your head up though.'

'You're just going to leave it?' the Sniper asked, startling images of a huge open wound on the side of his face popping into his head.

'No no, I've got some antiseptic cream here for it and I'll be covering it all in gauze. Though...' he trailed off, looking at the Sniper critically, 'that's not going to be easy...'

 

After stitching him up and wrapping what seemed to the Sniper like an entirely unnecessary amount of bandages around his head, the Medic ordered him to stay in the ward for the night. The Sniper protested. A lot. But it didn't get him anywhere. So at half four in the morning he finally settled down to sleep. Not that he was likely to get any.

Before it'd been covered up, the Sniper had asked to see the cut. The Medic had been reluctant to let him have a mirror, which'd only made him more stubborn. In the end the Medic had relented and fetched over a hand mirror.

The Sniper's own face had stared grimly back at him, paler than usual and tired looking. There was a red raised patch on his temple, but the stitches pulled the cut together enough that it didn't seem so bad.

His face however... He'd never forgive the Spy. Ever. The Sniper had never cared much about his looks, but what the Spy had done to his face... If the Sniper had been the kind of man to cry, he would have done. It was hard to make out the exact edges of the injury beneath the thick white antiseptic cream the Medic had liberally applied, so maybe it wasn't really as bad as it looked. But somehow the Sniper doubted it.

A long cut started at the right corner of his mouth and ran, at a slight angle, to just below his eye. The Spy had must have carefully followed the contours of his cheek, rather than just slashed the knife across, to manage to keep the depth of the cut so even. He'd skipped the Sniper's eyelids (which he wasn't willing to be thankful for quite yet) and had sliced through his eyebrow. The cut ended just before it disappeared into his hairline. There was no way anybody could ever look at the Sniper's face without knowing that someone had deliberately set out to harm him in such a noticeable way.

Or, to 'mark' him, you might say.


	9. In the Eyes of the Beholder

'Stop fiddling with it, Sniper!'

The Sniper jumped and looked guiltily around at the Medic. That morning he'd given the Sniper's injuries a go with an experimental version of his medigun. He'd also found some dressing that was laced with silver in some way that the Sniper didn't really understand. Apparently it would help reduce the infection, or at least, stop him from getting another one.

The Sniper had tried his best to forget about the slash across his face, but it was hard to. It stung and prickled even after he'd taken painkillers, and there was also the knowledge that he 'd likely have a large scar disfiguring his face for the rest of his life. He couldn't help wondering what his mother would think of it, and felt glad for once that she was half a world away and no longer on speaking terms with him.

However the cut was going to turn out, he'd find out soon. Despite all the Medic's fussing, the medigun had helped speed up the healing process greatly. Sure, it hadn't healed up it in seconds like they both would have liked it to, but an injury that might have otherwise taken weeks to heal would only need a couple more days before he could take the bandages off. 

Until then he'd have to try and ignore the itchiness and concentrate on the task at hand. It was just a few minutes until they were let back out on to the battlefield again, and he had a Spy to find.

  


Unfortunately for the Sniper, it was the BLU who found him first. He'd been eager to see how his mark had come out, and went after the Sniper straight away. The RED was understandably on edge though, and his teammates kept finding excuses to check up on him. That even included the RED Spy, which surprised the BLU. He'd always assumed his counterpart cared as little about his fellow REDs as he did about his own colleagues.

He supposed the Sniper's team was paying attention to him because of the novelty of a lasting injury. It couldn't be because they cared about him; he'd been there less than a week. And he was a sniper.

As he silently watched the Scout drop by for the third time in fifteen minutes, the Spy found himself wondering if he'd done more damage then he'd intended to. The trick to leaving scars here was to find a way of preventing the target from receiving medical aid for an hour or two, to let the injury 'set in', as it were. The longer it was left, the better the chances of a scar remaining. So all the gauze on the Sniper's face raised the question of how long it had taken him to get to the Medic. Long enough that not only had the medigun been unable to remove the injury without scarring, but also long enough for it to struggle to heal it at all? Most snipers seemed to be stubborn loner types, so perhaps the idiot had decided to try and see to his injuries himself.

Eventually the Sniper seemed to become fed-up of all the extra attention and slipped away to a more secluded spot. That suited the Spy perfectly. He followed carefully, on constant lookout for any other REDs. The last thing he wanted right now was for someone to start spychecking the area.

As the Sniper settled down into his new roost, the Spy took the time to observe the man. He found it educational to watch the other mercenaries work. It helped him learn all their little tricks and quirks. Watching his own teammates allowed him to learn things, such as which of them were likely to provide him with the best cover for slipping behind enemy lines, which routes they over-used and how long they were likely to survive each round. 

Spying on the enemy was even more rewarding. As well as the smug satisfaction of it all, it allowed him to learn their behaviour, habits and patterns, all of which came in useful when he wanted to disguise as one of them or to wait until the moment they'd be least expecting a backstab.

Leaning invisibly against the doorframe and watching the Sniper set to work gave him a good chance to learn a thing or two about one of his new enemies. The man muttered to himself from time to time in his rough, low voice. Mostly it was advice to himself and a running commentary of events, such as, 'A little to the left there. Little bit more. Right. That's got us set.' and 'Look at him go. Got to learn his pattern or I'm never gonna get that headshot.'

He also noticed that the Sniper had become a lot warier of his surroundings than he'd been before. Even the most distant noise from behind him would make him whip around. The Spy found it amusing just how many times the Spy stared right through him without having a clue his enemy was lurking there.

He decided to allow the Sniper to get five successful shots before he made a move. It was easy to tell the difference between a hit and a miss. When a shot went wide, the Sniper would shake his head in disappointment and quietly berate himself. If he came close to hitting a target or only winged them, he'd either make a low growling sound through clenched teeth, or tell himself to get his act together. When the Sniper did get someone though, his face would split into a satisfied smile and he'd laugh softly or else mutter some petty insult about the man he'd just killed. 

The Spy found it interesting to note that the Sniper seemed to put himself down for every failure, but would pin every successful shot on some mistake the enemy had made, rather on his own skill. Either this Sniper's successes were down to luck and he knew it, or he just had a low opinion of himself. Considering the short time it took him to take down five BLUs, the Spy thought it was probably the latter.

As soon as the Sniper had taken out his latest target (who must have been the Pyro, based off the Sniper saying, 'Now what did you go standing still for, you mumbling idiot?'), the Spy pounced.

In two long strides he was across the room and uncloaked, raking his knife across his target's back. He could have just gone in for an easy backstab and then pulled off the bandages once the man was dead, but he might not have time for that before respawn took the body. Besides, this was the first time the Sniper had seen the Spy since he'd gained a new decoration for his face, and his reaction was sure to be priceless.

It was.

As the knife sliced along his back, he let out a surprisingly high-pitched yelp and sprung forward on reflex. That got him briefly out of range but also nearly sent him flying out of the old window he'd been sniping through. He had to grab hold of the weathered frame to stop from defenestrating himself.

The Spy couldn't resist stepping forward and slashing his blade across the man's exposed back again. The Sniper swore and kicked out at his attacker, managing to catch the Spy in the gut. The Spy stumbled backwards, giving the Sniper time to pull himself back into the room. One of his knees was bleeding. It looked as though there must have been some glass left in the bottom of the window.

The Sniper was already injured as he dragged his kukri out of its sheath, whereas the Spy had merely received a kick that would leave some bruising at worst.

'You know, you talk to yourself a lot,' the Spy said as he flipped his rose-patterned balisong open and closed against the back of his hand. The menacing little swishes and clicks of the blade were at odds with the casual tone of his voice.

The Sniper glowered at him from behind white gauze and yellow-tinted glasses. 'You know it's rude to spy on other people, right?'

The BLU laughed. 'I'm afraid it is in the job description, you know.'

As soon as he stopped speaking, the Sniper lunged for him, aiming to stab him in the gut. The movement must have stretched the cuts across the marksman's back because he hissed with pain as he went in for the attack. The Spy swung out of the way and, quick as a viper, lashed out with his own weapon. He tore through the Sniper's clothes and sliced a line across his ribs, but the blade snagged on the Sniper's jacket, and the Spy almost lost it.

By the time it was firmly back in the BLU's palm, the Sniper had rounded on him, the tip of his kukri aimed straight at his heart. The Spy almost had his arm clean cut off by that blade during his first fight with the Sniper; he didn't much fancy the idea of an encounter with the pointy end of it.

The Spy ducked to the side and underneath the attack, getting inside the Sniper's guard in a similar fashion to the day before. He used this vantage point to stab the Australian in the lower back. He avoided the main arteries, spine and kidneys. He didn't want the Sniper dying on him just yet.

He let go of the blade as the Sniper tried to slam the butt of his kukri into his ribs and retreated out of range of the longer knife. The Sniper made to go after him but he was in too much pain to put any effort into the attack. It was easy for the Spy to get in close enough to twist the weapon out of his opponent's hand and send it clattering away.

The Sniper stumbled backwards, his hat askew and his shoulders hunched. His face was nearly as white as the bandages and pinched from pain. The clothes on his back stuck to him from the blood, and there were splatters of it all over the floor, marking where he'd been. He stared blearily at the Spy for a moment before asking between ragged breaths, 'Where's. That knife. Of yours. Gone?'

If he thought both of them losing their melee weapons would even things up, he was mistaken. The Sniper looked ready to drop and the Spy still had his Ambassador safely tucked away. He could have used it at any point during the fight, but where would have been the fun in that?

The Spy smiled at him. 'Why, you're holding on to it for me, Sniper.'

The Sniper blinked at him, the words struggling to permeate the haze that was stopping him from thinking straight. The Spy had to point to his side before he thought to look down. For a moment the Sniper couldn't see what he meant, until he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye. He twisted around and saw to his surprise that there was a knife sunk into the right side of his lower back. All the managed in reply to the sight was a dull 'oh.'

It was surreal, seeing it there but barely being able to feel it. Adrenaline was strange like that. He could feel the horrible stinging pain of the cuts across his upper back, knee and ribs, but there was the balisong, still sticking out of him.

Slowly, feeling as though the air around him had turned to treacle, he reached to pull out the knife with his right hand. The Spy made a disapproving tutting noise.

'Now, now, Sniper, I wouldn't go doing that if I were you, you'll only bleed out faster.'

The Sniper ignored his advice. He knew that right now death was the best thing for him. That still registered in his mind as a very odd thing to think, even though he knew he could rely on respawn to bring him back. The BLU Spy obviously wasn't going to allow him to leave this room alive. With the amount of pain he was in, the quicker he could manage to die, the better.

The second he touched one of the twin handles and the blade inside him shifted, he could feel it. It was a white-hot blast of agony that short-fired every other sense he possessed. The Sniper clenched his teeth together as tightly as he could but a moan of pain still escaped as he dragged out the knife.

It occurred to him then that he was now the one with the weapon.

The Spy became aware of that too, and though it didn't particularly worry him, he still decided to solve the problem straight away. Before the Sniper even had a chance to look up at him, he took a step forward and knocked the him down with a push kick to the diaphragm. 

The butterfly knife went skittering out of the Sniper's grip as he flung out his arms to catch himself. The Spy stomped on his chest, forcing him down.

It had all happened so fast, and the Sniper was already so disorientated from pain and blood loss, that he couldn't pull his thoughts together enough to work out how to fight back. He just lay there beneath the Spy's black Italian leather shoe as he tried to remember how to breathe and who he was.

His hat had been knocked off his head as he fell and his glasses were crooked across his face. One eye still saw the world through tinted orange glass while the other saw it in all its drab glory.

Above him, the masked BLU grinned like a cat who'd just cornered a particularly fat little mouse. Then a look of confusion flickered across his face.

The Spy was a man who prided himself on (among many other things) his ability to memorise tiny details and piece clues together. Right now there was a niggling little feeling at the back of his mind telling him that there was something odd about this picture. There was the wounded and beaten RED mercenary beneath his boot, as he should be. There were the bandages across the previous injuries he himself had caused. There were those awful aviators, half knocked of the man's face, revealing one amber-brown eye. One amber-brown eye.

The Spy's mind made the connection. He'd made a note of the Sniper's eye colour while he'd been unconscious the day before. Dark brown. They'd definitely been dark brown. So how could...

The Sniper flinched as the Spy leant down and plucked the glasses off his face. The BLU, now properly blue thanks to the lack of tinted glass, not just a kind of washed out green, peered down at him curiously.

'How freakish,' he murmured, more to himself than his enemy. 'I thought that kind of thing only happened in animals.'

If the Sniper hadn't lost too much blood already, it would have rushed to his face. There were three reasons why he always wore his tinted aviators, and the man he hated most on the entire planet at that moment had just discovered one of them.

'It's just heterochromia,' he managed to splutter, despite the suffocating weight pressed into his chest and how hard it was now to string thoughts together.

It was bad enough being a skinny, socially inept Australian without a moustache, let alone being one with mismatched eye colours. He'd hardly taken off his sunglasses since his father had given them to him; it saved a lot of time and energy having to deal with the gawking and rude questions.

If anything else was said by either of them after that, the Sniper never knew. He was also never truly certain what his cause of death must have been that time around. He report card at the end of the day simply put it down to the BLU Spy, which was obvious enough. He just wasn't sure if he'd simply died from blood loss, or if the Spy had been so put-off by the sight of his oddly coloured eyes that he'd killed him rather than look at them anymore.

In fact, his first guess was right. Despite his proclamation that the Sniper's eyes were 'freakish', the Spy found them fascinating, and continued to stare into them long after their light had faded.

He was so distracted by this new titbit of information he'd gathered on the RED Sniper that he only realised he hadn't had a look under the bandages as the Sniper's body began to fade away. His foot went through what was now empty air and hit the floor with a splash that speckled his shoes and trousers with blood.

'Damn it! Why does respawn always do that?' he asked angrily of the empty room. As usual, nothing but bloodstains remained.


	10. Merciful Murderer

For the rest of the match, the Sniper made sure to remain in sight of at least one of his teammates at all times, often staying near the Engineer's sentry. He'd guard it, and in return, it'd guard him. He got the impression that this wasn't normal sniper behaviour, and that it might have not been the most useful use of his time, but the Engineer didn't say anything of it. Instead he used it as an excuse to pull out his shotgun and go join in the fighting. He didn't have the most high-power of the weapons, or the most accurate aim, but he was aggressive and persistent. Each time he managed to get a kill he'd return to the Sniper with a viciously triumphant smile on his face. It slightly unsettled the Sniper how the Engineer could go from a calm and relaxed individual, to such a bloodthirsty fighter, at the mere sight of a BLU.

There was one beautiful moment when the BLU Spy appeared next to the sentry, sapper in hand and, and The Sniper immediately shot him through the head.

'Ha ha, yes! Take that, you backstabbing bastard!'

The Engineer came around the corner, more metal in hand. He sauntered over to the dead Spy and kicked his limp arm. 'Nice bit of work there, Sniper. Got him before he managed to sap my sentry and all.'

The Sniper nodded his thanks, fighting hard to keep a grin from spreading across his face. That was the first compliment anyone had given him for his work since he'd arrived. Actually, it was the first compliment he'd received in, well, a very long time.

The round ended on a high-note, with the RED team getting their first victory all week. The Sniper was surprised they'd won at all. Not because the match had been going badly, but because he was aware of what a handicap two new people must be. While he certainly knew his way around a rifle and the Heavy seemed the hard working sort, neither of them knew the location well yet, or how best to work with the others. Until they gained a bit more experience here, Sniper was sure the two of them must just be a dead weight for the RED team. It was true that no one had actually said that, but the Sniper was sure they were all thinking it.

When the Administrator announced their success, the Engineer set out to look for remaining BLUs. Remembering how unpleasant he'd found the three humiliation rounds he'd been conscious for when RED had lost, the Sniper decided he didn't really fancy joining in. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to him. Unprofessional. He couldn't understand wanting to hurt someone who was defenceless, and (at least temporarily) intending you no harm. Especially if you weren't getting paid any extra for it.

Then his thoughts turned back to the BLU Spy, as they had done again and again since their first encounter. It was like the memories were rotten teeth he couldn't help poking at. If he had the Spy here in front of him now, he wouldn't hesitate to run him through with his kukri. Again and again and again.

Maybe he could understand his team's participation in the humiliation rounds after all. He hadn't been here even a week and there was already someone he wanted revenge on. Most of the others had been on RED team for months or years. That was plenty of time to develop feelings of deepest hatred for nine different people.

As he headed back towards their base, movement caught his eye. He peered over the metal railing down at what must have been an old refuse dump back when this place was... whatever it was before. The ground was unpleasantly squashy down there and the old pipes still leaked out murky water on and off. The only reason anyone ever ventured down there was because it made for easy access to one of the main intelligence rooms.

Down there, pulling himself into the shadows behind a rusty old barrel, was the BLU Scout. The RED intelligence lay abandoned on the muddy ground several feet away. He must have just grabbed it before the round ended, leaving him stranded deep inside RED territory.

The railing creaked as the Sniper leant against it. The Scout flinched and look up. There was a look of tight-lipped fear on his face. It was gone in a moment, replaced by weary resignation.

But it had been enough. The Scout was just a kid, really, wasn't he? Yes, he was also an enemy, and Sniper had no qualms about shooting at him during a match. The match was over though, and the BLU was helpless, scared and temporarily harmless _._

The two of them stared at one another without moving until a distant rocket blast caught the Sniper's attention. It was nothing significant, nothing important, but the Sniper pretended to himself that it was something that required his attention. He left to investigate. Not to spare the Scout. In fact, he never saw the Scout. It was late. It was dark. He'd probably just imagined him.

Yes. That was it.

 

Half an hour later there was a knock on the door of his camper. The Sniper, who'd been idly doodling on a scrap of lined paper while waiting for a pot of coffee to brew, jumped to his feet.

_Shit._

He'd forgotten to visit the Medic.

He opened the door to find the doctor standing outside his van, arms crossed.

'Well, did you want that dressing changed or not?'

The honest answer was no. He'd had enough of the Medic poking at his face. The Sniper didn't want to piss him off though, so he said, 'I'm sorry Doc. I just got distracted and, uh forgot. Sorry.'

The Medic made a small, exasperated sound, as though he couldn't believe anybody could manage to forget something so important. However, the Sniper's apology mollified him and after his initial show of grumpiness he unfolded his arms and waved his teammate's words away.

'Not to worry. We still have a little time before dinner.'

'Ah, right, I'll just go grab my shoes.'

He disappeared back into his van and used the shoes excuse to pour himself a cup of coffee. After yanking on his boots he followed the Medic back to base, clutching a chipped red mug possessively in his hands.

 

The Sniper stayed as still as he could while the Medic carefully removed the stitches from his head wound. With the medigun trained on him it hardly hurt at all, but the small tugging sensation was still unsettling. At least it was a professional doing the job though. The Sniper had had to stitch up and remove sutures from injuries by himself in the past, and that had never been pleasant.

Once he'd finished the job, the Medic said, 'There. That one's not come out so bad.' Then he leant back to have a good look at the cut down the Sniper's cheek. 'And this one... we can improve. I've got a mixture of bio-oil, medigun gel and a couple of other ingredients that should help reduce the tightness and the scarring. It wont be a quick fix though, you'll have to apply it twice a day for the next three months or so.'

The Sniper nodded glumly. He didn't know what to say. This was good news, wasn't it? That there was something the Medic could do to help? He was certainly glad that something could be done about how taut and uncomfortable the cut was. But he'd still been kind of hoping that the doctor would be able to pull out some secret miracle cure from somewhere.

Noticing the look on his face, the Medic tried to reassure him. 'At least it's just hypertophic scarring, not a keloid scar.' When the Sniper didn't look any happier at that (as he didn't know what either of those words meant), the Medic continued, 'And after a few months you'll notice it starting to get paler, and after a couple of years it should start to flatten down by itself anyway.'

'Um. Good.'

The Medic picked up fresh bandages off the table next to them. The Sniper stared at them for a moment, before something snapped.

'Medic. Can't we just leave it? I'm bloody fed-up of having that stuff all over my face.'

The Medic paused, frowning.

'I promise not to poke at it.'

The Medic put the bandages back down with a sigh. The Sniper had been better behaved than most of his other patients so far, and he'd only been intending to put one last dressing on anyway. At this point in the healing process it probably wouldn't make much difference; the cut was far enough along that it was unlikely to get infected again.

'Well alright then, but let me get that oil for you.'

He went searching through several cupboards stocked full of glass veils and bottles with handwritten labels. It looked as though the Medic really liked his homemade medicine. The Sniper wondered if there was anything in there that might have some interesting effects, if taken recreationally.

Eventually, after much clinking of glass, the Medic made a small triumphant noise and returned with a bottle full of a thin, translucent liquid, tinted slightly pink. The Medic handed it over, reminding him to apply it twice a day.

'It goes far, two or three drops should do it.'

The Sniper turned the little bottle over in his hand and peered down at the peeling off-white label. The Medic's spiky handwriting swam before his eyes. Now that Medic wasn't fiddling with anything on his face, the Sniper could put his glasses back on. Under their orange tint the letters behaved themselves, but he still couldn't read it. Not only was Medic's handwriting appalling, it was also in a language the Sniper didn't recognise. He'd just have to trust that the doctor had picked out the right one.

'Right. Um, thanks Doc.'

The Sniper's intentions were to slip off back to his van after that, but the Medic clapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Right then, food should be ready anytime now, we'd best head over and have a look.'

'Who's cooking tonight?'

'Scout.'

'Oh.'

'That's not actually as bad as it sounds.'

 

To Sniper's surprise, the Medic appeared to be right. He wasn't quite sure what you'd call the meal, as the Scout seemed to have just stir-fried anything together that sounded like it would work, but it looked fairly promising. Peering over the younger man's shoulder at the three large pans-full of food he had cooking (nine hungry mercenaries take a lot to feed), he identified pieces of chicken, pepper, carrots, peas, beans, finely diced onions and what might have been little pieces of bacon, all bubbling away in some kind of tomato source.

Spotting the Sniper behind him, the Scout turned around, one hand on his hip and the other holding up a spatula. 'Hey, man, betcha didn't know I could cook!'

To be honest, it wasn't something that the marksman had given a moment's thought to either way. If he had, he probably would have assumed he was pretty useless in the kitchen though. He wasn't quite sure how the reply to the Scout, so he just stayed quiet. That seemed to suit the boy just fine, as he carried on regardless.

'Yeah! Everyone's always thinking that. Think that just because I'm young, I don't know nothing about this kind of thing, especially since I've got eight older brothers and all.'

Eight older brothers? The Sniper hadn't known that. Then again, he didn't know much about the Scout beyond that he was always chattering on about something or other, was good at running fast, drank way too much of some unfamiliar brand energy drink, and left the empty cans laying around everywhere.

'But my Mom, right? She had like, six brothers and no sisters and she says her and Gran always had to do all the cooking all the time so when she ended up with eight sons she was like, 'Hell no I'm not doing all that cooking, you kids are gonna learn a thing or two,' so she made sure we all knew how to look after ourselves and stuff. Said it'd be a real help with attracting girls too. She says chicks dig a guy who can cook 'em a five star meal and stuff.'

The Sniper nodded vaguely as the Scout yammered on at him, regretting ever getting close enough to become his target of conversation. He glanced around, looking for someone to rescue him. The Medic was deep in conversation with the Demoman at the nearby dining table, but there was nobody else around. He'd just have to try actually talking back.

'So, um, what exactly is it?' he asked, pointing towards the nearest simmering pan.

The Scout looked affronted, as though he thought the answer was obvious. 'It's a recipe of my Mom's!'

As he proceeded to rattle off the list of ingredients (most of which the Sniper had already guessed) and exactly why he'd included them (none of which the Sniper cared about), another member of the team entered the room. It was their Spy.

Just the sight of him put the Sniper on edge. He dressed in different colours, looked different, and talked differently to the BLU Spy but there was just something about them that was unsettlingly similar, but hard to pin-point. As someone who'd spent years tracking animals and studying their behaviour, the Sniper was able to identify one of the main aspects. It was the way they moved. They held themselves straight-backed and proud, yet there was a kind of slinking motion to them that put the Sniper in mind of a stalking cat far more than any humans had any right to. Every step and gesture seemed carefully pre-planned but casually executed, as though they were veteran stage actors who'd played this same part before far too many times to count.

The Sniper turned away from him and tried to tune back into whatever it was the Scout was talking about, hoping the Spy would join the other two at the table. But contrary creature that he was, the Spy seemed to sense the Sniper's discomfort and slunk right over. Or it may just have been because the Sniper had so rarely been spotted around the base in the four days he'd been there.

'The wild bushman's found his way into the base! To what do we owe this rare appearance?'

The Sniper didn't know the Spy well enough to tell if he was being teased or mocked and he didn't feel comfortable enough to look at the man's face for hints. Not that'd he'd be likely to have much success if he did, since the Spy was, well a Spy. Hiding emotions and misdirecting people was his thing, wasn't it?

The Medic looked up from his conversation with the Demoman and waved a hand dismissively, 'Oh come on, Spy, leave the poor man alone. He's only here because I buggered him into coming along.'

A moment of silence met this statement. Then Demoman let out a roar of laughter and slapped the his hand down onto the tabletop. Spy covered his mouth to try and stifle a snort of laughter, and the Sniper went bright red. 'I—he—that's  _not_ what he meant to say!' he spluttered.

The Scout hadn't been paying any attention to the conversation and glanced between all of them wildly. 'Huh? What is it? What did I miss?'

The Demoman, between whoops of laughter, managed to say to the Medic, 'Doc. That's the. Best one. You've done. Yet.'

The usually stoic man was looking around at them all, highly embarrassed. 'What is it? What did I say wrong?'

From what the Sniper had heard the Medic say so far, his English had sounded flawless. Apparently this wasn't always the case. Still feeling rather embarrassed himself, but wanting to help the doctor out, the Sniper said, 'I think you might have meant to say you 'bugged' me into coming here. Not, uh, 'Buggered.”

There was fresh laughter from the Demoman at that.

The Medic put his head in his hands and said without looking at any of them, 'Please just tell me what that means.'

The Demoman leaned in and put his arm of the Doctor's shoulder companionably. He forced himself to stop laughing and tried to put on a straight face, but his mouth kept twitching back into a smile. 'Medic,' he started, in a mock-serious voice, 'Wellllll, you may have just informed us all that you've been getting on, ah,  _really_ well with the new Sniper here.'

He glanced up at the Spy, who grinned back at him and agreed, 'Very well indeed.'

'You could say the two have you have become rather close,' the Demoman continued.

'Intimately close, ' the Spy said delicately.

Then the Scout had to go and ruin their teasing by blurting out, 'You fucked him in the butt!'

The Engineer chose that moment to enter the kitchen. He looked around at everybody, all either red-faced from embarrassment or from laughing and asked, 'Do I even want to know?'

'No,' the Medic muttered from behind his hands, but without much force. He knew they were about to explain the whole story to the Engineer, and that they would continue to do so until every member of the team had heard it.

The Sniper said nothing, but pulled the brim of his hat down to cover up more of his face. While the Scout animatedly helped recount the Medic's mistake, he picked up the abandoned spatula and tried to distract himself by stirring the bubbling contents of the pans. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough he could pretend the conversation behind him hadn't left him feeling mortified.

Once everything had been explained and the Engineer had had a good laugh about it, the Scout turned back to his cooking.

'Oh, hey man, I've got that.' He glanced up at the taller man, actually paying attention to him properly for the first time since he'd entered the room.

'Holy shit man, your face!'

The Sniper froze, tomato source dripping off the spatula and on to the hob.

'What about it?' he asked stiffly, his eyes flicking towards the Scout's for a moment before looking away again.

'No, I don't mean anything, you know. Just, that scar, man. I mean, jeez!'

The Sniper gritted his teeth. He hadn't had a chance to look at it since the day it had happened. It'd looked terrible then but he'd been hoping it wouldn't look quite so bad now.

The Medic, who no longer had his head in his hands and was only a couple shades pinker than normal now, called over to the young man, 'Leave him alone, Scout, or I'll give you a matching scar!'

The runner held his hands up in the air is surrender, 'Wow, harsh! I didn't mean nothing! I was just saying... you know.'

The Sniper left the room without another word.

The Demoman called after him, 'Hey, tea's gonna be ready in a minute! Why don't you stick around for it for once?'

By 'tea', the Sniper presumed he meant dinner.

'I'll be back in a minute,' he called back to the Demoman, though he would rather have just retreated to his camper van for the evening.

Before he was out of earshot he heard the Scout say, 'Hey, what's his problem?'

 

The Sniper leant against one of the chipped sinks in the bathroom, his eyes closed. His breathing was only a little faster than normal, but the empty room seemed to amplify the sound until it was all he could focus on.

 _Oh come on man, get your act together,_ he thought to himself.

Taking one last deep breath, he straightened up and looked into the mirror above the sink. It was old, grubby, and covered in little black spots around the edges. And the Sniper's reflection in it didn't look much better.

He pulled his glasses a further down his nose to expose his mismatched eyes, forcing himself to take in his most hated features as well as his newest one.

The scar was bad. Despite all the Medics warnings, he really hadn't expected the sight that met his eyes. The mark was carved down his face, the skin red and raised on either side. Where it met the corner of his mouth the tight scarring had pulled at his lips, forcing them into a permanent half-smile. He'd never felt less like smiling, but it seemed he couldn't stop.

He tried mouthing a few words in the mirror, noticing how the middle of his top lip no longer sat neatly above his front teeth, but twisted off to the side.

The Sniper didn't dare touch the scar, but he brought a hand up to the bottom of his cheek and tugged at his skin with his fingertips. He could pull the scar off to one side, but he couldn't quite push the corner of his mouth back to normal. The skin around the cut was too taut for that. He really hoped that the stuff the Medic had given him would help. He didn't fancy the idea of looking like he was sneering at everyone he spoke to for the rest of his life.

With a sigh, the Sniper pulled off his glasses and hat, thinking that he'd better have a look at the whole picture. Without them on it became more obvious how long the scar was. And how deliberate it had been.

He ran a hand through his hair and pushed it away from his left temple, exposing the area where he'd been knocked out with his own kukri. The blunt object had caused his scalp to split open in a way that left him with a ragged little three-pronged scar, but it had healed up much better than the other cut. The Sniper presumed it must have been because it hadn't been infected.

Every since the attack, the Sniper had been thinking about ways of getting revenge. Now, standing there looking at the livid marks the Spy had purposefully left on him, he realised something. No matter how hard he tried, he'd never be able to match the vindictiveness of that man. Sure, he'd shot people. It was in the job description. But the Sniper couldn't imagine setting out to permanently disfigure someone's face just in the name of leaving his personal mark on them. It felt disturbingly like branding to him.


	11. Contract Zero

By the time the Sniper returned, the rest of the team had arrived and the Engineer had taken over from the Scout, ladling out everyone's meals on to their plates. It'd been explained to the Sniper that no one else had proved themselves to be trustworthy with that particular job, either due to having a tendency to spill things everywhere or refusing to give whoever they were currently squabbling with an adequately sized portion.

The Sniper hovered at the back of the queue. If he was going to stick around and eat with them this time, he wanted to wait until he knew which the spare seat was.

He wasn't surprised when that place turned out to be right next to Scout. The Medic was on the other side, and when the Sniper sat himself down, the Heavy grinned across at him.

'Careful little Sniper, don't get so close to Medic. Who is knowing what he may do?'

The Scout sniggered and the Medic glared at him and the Heavy.

'Oh for God's sake, just give it a rest already! Next person who brings it up gets this fork wedged in their eyeball.' It seemed as though the team had continued to tease the Medic while the Sniper had been out of the room.

The conversation fell into a lull as they all tucked into their dinner. The Sniper really wished it hadn't, as he could now hear chewing sounds in stereo. The Soldier and Demoman ate with their mouths open. It was disgusting.

The Sniper tried to take his mind off it. This was the first time he'd been in the same room as all the other mercenaries at once, apart from the time spent waiting for matches to begin. He realised how little he knew about any of them beyond their fighting styles. He'd watched them all trough his scope on the battlefield to get an impression of them as fighters, but outside of matches, he'd mostly avoided them. The Sniper went over the basics of what he knew of each of them in his head.

The Scout he'd already covered. Runs fast, talks fast, apparently has a lot of brothers and a strong mother figure.

Next to him was the Pyro. The Sniper knew nothing about the Pyro except that he, or she, or it, liked fire and spent a lot of time drawing wonky looking rainbows and stick figures in crayon.

On the corner was the Engineer, the man he'd probably spent the most time with beyond the Medic. The Sniper really wasn't sure what to think of the man. He wasn't unpleasant and usually sounded pretty amiable, but he rarely smiled and those goggles of his made it even harder for the Sniper to read his expression that it already was. He'd also seen just how vicious the usually affable man could turn at the mere mention of a BLU.

The Soldier was an odd sort. Loud, boisterous and aggressively pro-American, but according to the Engineer, pretty much harmless. After talking to him for the first time, and having been called 'soldier' several times during the conversation, the Sniper had asked, 'He is aware that's it's him that's the Soldier right?'

'To him, everyone's a soldier. Or a civilian. And you don't want him thinking you're a civilian,' the Engineer had told him

'Why not?'

'Well, he'd get kind of over-protective.'

'Over-protective?'

'Yeah, you know, lots of valiantly leaping in the way of rockets for you and treating you like some kind of damsel in distress. It gets old real quick, I can tell you.'

The Sniper had made sure to bear that in mind, but so far the Soldier hadn't made any brave attempts to rescue him out of his sniper nests and ride off with him into the sunset on the back of a white stallion. He was glad.

Next along on the table was the Demoman. The Sniper had to admit that he wouldn't have guessed the man's accent just from looking at him. Then again, he hadn't been able to work it out even then. He'd ended-up carefully bringing it up with the Engineer, who'd said, 'Oh, you too? Yeah, he's always confusing people with that. Thought that an Australian might have better luck with it.'

The Sniper had shaken his head mutely.

'Well he's English you see, except he's Northern English. Apparently that makes a difference somehow. He's loosely related to the other Demoman, but the BLU's from Scotland and I tell you, you don't want to get between the two of them when they're gunning for each other. Not pretty. Not pretty at all. Heads will roll. Literally. Oh, and one other thing, whatever you do, _never_ call our Demoman's accent a 'British accent', unless you really want one of them to swap your tongue for your balls.'

That lovely image had ended the conversation.

Beyond that, all he really knew about the Demoman was that he may or may not have some kind of drinking problem. He certainly drank a fair bit when he was off duty, but he'd heard him swear to the Medic that he never touched more than was in his hip flask during a match. The Sniper couldn't help but wonder if it respawned full again every time he died.

The Heavy Weapons Guy was the next along the table. Now his accent was easy to identify. The Sniper knew a Russian when he heard one. The accent, and the Heavy's size had put the Sniper on edge. They reminded him far too much of an individual he'd much rather forget about.

Ignoring that though, what else was there to say about the Heavy? Like the Sniper he was new, but unlike him, he seemed to have no trouble socialising. His English wasn't the best, but he could understand it well enough, making him a good listener. He must have been the patient type as well, considering how well he put up with the Scout nattering at him for long periods of time.

Sitting next to the Heavy (and looking slightly squashed in the corner), was the Spy. The Sniper knew pretty much nothing about him apart from the fact he smoked, fussed a lot about his fancy clothing, was French, and always looked tired.

That left the Medic. He really would have to find out where the man was from at some point. His best guess would be 'somewhere in the middle of Europe' but he really couldn't pin it down any more accurately than that. The Sniper presumed he was a certified doctor, but if he'd come to work at this place in the same way as the he had, there was no guarantee of that. All the same, the Medic seemed decent enough. Perhaps a little short-tempered and snappy, but he'd patched the Sniper up, and even stepped up to deflect unwanted attention away from him. He must pay a lot of attention to the people around him to pick up on how uncomfortable the Sniper had been. Or maybe it was just that obvious.

 

After a couple more minutes, talking resumed at the table. The Sniper didn't pay any attention to it until the Scout poked his arm. He looked around.

'What?'

The Scout hesitated, clearly considering changing his mind about what he was about to say.

'I was just, uh, wondering, why are you always wearing those glasses? Like, it's not exactly bright in here or anything.'

'Um. Habit I guess. Makes reading easier.'

'You're telling me you're a Sniper with bad eyesight? Isn't that kind of unhelpful?'

'Nah. My eyesight's fine. It's just...' He'd tried explaining this to many people over the years, and no one ever seemed to quite understand it.

'Right, the thing is that normal writing and stuff, it does my head in. I can't concentrate on it properly. The letters kind of, I don't know, jump around and blur together and such. But when I look at it through these I find it much easier to concentrate on. Don't know why. Must be something to do with the orange tint to them, 'cos normal sunglasses don't help as much.'

The Medic must have overheard the start of the conversation, as he leant over and said eagerly, 'The Sniper's eyes are fascinating!'

Apparently the Heavy had been listening in too, as he announced to the table in his booming voice, 'Ah! Medic gets lost in Sniper's eyes! Is true love!'

Next to him, the Spy choked on a glass of red wine and had to fight hard not to spit it out all over the table.

'No! That's not what I said!' the Medic called over the laughter. 'I meant his eyes are fascinating from a _medical_ point of view!'

'Oh yeah?' the Demoman replied with a smirk, 'Bet he can't wait for his next examination!' He wiggled his eyes suggestively at the Medic, who threw his fork at him.

'Look, I just mean the colour!'

'Ah, Sniper's eyes, most beautiful colour Medic's ever seen!' the Heavy added, earning the Medic's the table knife, which bounced harmlessly off his chest a moment later.

'Oh for goodness sake, just take those damn aviators off for a moment, Sniper!'

Maybe the Medic wasn't all that good at spotting when someone was uncomfortable after all. The way the Sniper was trying to make himself look as small as possible should have made it obvious. He would have tried sinking down into his chair if he could, but the table was small and his legs were long and he really didn't want them touching anyone else's.

Glancing around he could see that everybody was looking at him now. Even the featureless black lenses of Pyro's mask seemed to be fixed directly on him. This was his worst nightmare. If harmless banter at his expense left him uncomfortable, then having eight people staring at him, waiting to have a look at his eyes, was practically hell. He hated taking off his sunglasses in public and he hated looking people in the eye.

Reluctantly he pulled off his glasses and left them carefully folded on the table. With a small, steadying breath he forced himself to look up around at them all. The Spy gave him a small approving nod, as though he was simply confirming something he already suspected. The Heavy leant forward, staring intently at Sniper. The Soldier tipped his helmet back so he could have a proper look, and next to him the Demoman said, 'Huh, I used to have a little moggie with something like that, 'cept one of her eyes were blue.'

'What is it? What's all the fuss about?' the Scout pestered. The Sniper turned towards him, meeting his catching his eye directly for a moment. 'Oh, wow man. That's freaky. How did it happen?'

'I was just born with different coloured eyes, that's all,' the Sniper replied irritably. Now that everyone had had a proper gawk at him, he put his glasses back on again.

'It's called complete heterochromia,' the Medic announced with pride, as though he was a mother bragging about her favourite child. 'It's very rare, especially without being linked to more serious, underlying issues.' He went on to explain some of the possible disorders, mentioning things the Sniper had never heard of, like 'Congenital Horner's Syndrome' and 'von Recklinghausen disease', listing all their various symptoms.

'But I haven't got anything like that, I've just got weird looking eyes!' the Sniper protested. The Medic made a small flapping motion at him with his hands which might have been an agreement, or it might have been an order to shut up. The Sniper decided to just give up and return to his food, as everybody but the Medic already had done.

When the doctor had finally finished his medical spiel and gone to try and find where his fork had ended up, the Spy took the opportunity to lean over and say, 'So, Sniper, eyeballs and over-enthusiastic doctors aside, how are you settling in?'

The Sniper shrugged. 'Alright, I suppose. 'Fraid I can't say I think much of your equivalent on the other team though.'

'Oh, neither do I', the Spy agreed. 'He enjoys taking time with his kills far too much; it's all very unprofessional. He's always been like that though.'

The Sniper sighed. 'Not looking forward to getting backstabbed by him everyday for the next ten years.'

With that he returned to his food, which had gone cold but still tasted alright. He completely missed the look that the Spy and Scout shared behind his back at his last words. The Spy's eyes were narrowed in a calculating manner. The Scout looked startled.

 

It was another hour before the Sniper was finally able to escape back to his van. He felt exhausted. He wasn't used to the odd working hours yet, what with the way matches lasted until midnight here. It was probably the socialising afterwards that had really worn him down though. He didn't get how some people seemed to just thrive off company. Depending on how many people were about, it usually only took an hour or so before the Sniper was quite literally tired of it.

Stifling a yawn, the Sniper set about making himself a final cup of coffee before bed. Decaf, of course. As it brewed he glanced around for his mug. He'd had three up until recently, but two had broken, leaving him with just his favourite chipped red mug left. Which didn't appear to be anywhere in sight. It wasn't out on the table, in the sink, on the drying rack or anywhere in either of the cupboards under the stove and sink. He straightened back up, scratching his chin. Then he remembered. He'd taken it with him to the medical bay. It must still be there. Maybe he could slip back into the base and grab it without having to talk to anybody again.

Maybe it was a bit over the top, but in the end he switched his boots for a ratty pair of trainers he only every wore when he wanted to be quiet. He was light-footed by nature anyway, but soft rubber soles certainly helped.

He was pretty serious about this whole avoiding bumping into anybody if he could thing. It would just be awkward. They'd be all like, 'Hey, what are you doing back in here?' and he'd be all, 'Forgot my coffee cup' and then they'd probably make a remark about it being too late for coffee and he'd have to say it was decaf and then they'd probably mention some kind of study that said even decaf coffee is bad for helping you get to sleep, and he'd have to thinks of some reply to that and he just couldn't be doing with all that right now.

 

As he silently approached the medibay, the Sniper heard voices just ahead of him. The Medic and Scout by the sounds of it. He paused and frowned to himself as he tried to work out if his favourite mug was really worth it. Maybe he should just put the coffee in a bowl or a glass or something and have done with it. The Sniper was just about to turn around and leave when he heard his class title mentioned. Instantly curious, he drew closer until the voices were just around the corner. He glanced around to check no one was about, though he knew that that wouldn't be much help if the Spy was lurking nearby.

'It's understandable. You were close to the old Sniper, so of course you'll find it odd trying to get on with someone who's here to replace a friend.'

'No, it's not that. Like, yeah, I miss Snipes and all, but that's not it. The new guy's just weird, you know? Like I can't be the only one who's thinking it, but there's gotta be something, you know, a bit wrong with the guy. I mean, you've tried talking to him, right? He never starts conversations, you've always got to. And the way he never looks you in the eye. He just stares at the floor, or looks past you, or just at anywhere that isn't you. It's weird and annoying. Like he's not paying proper attention to you or something. And he never seems to laugh at anything, even really funny stuff. Fuck, I'm not even sure if I've seen the guy even _smile._ And Spy said something—can't remember what now— that was totally sarcastic to him and he didn't even notice! Just kind of nodded and agreed and stuff.'

'Some people just aren't as good at socialising, Scout.'

'Well yeah, but there's bad at talking to people, and then there's being bad at, you know, just even _talking_ to people. And his eyes! I mean, fuck, that's weird, right? You said it yourself that it hardly ever happens. And who knows what kind of messed-up disease he might have along with it? What if it's catching?'

'Scout. I've read his medical reports. He doesn't have any major health issues, and certainly none that could spread. Really, I still think this is all because you miss the old Sniper.'

'Stop saying that! Snipes was way better than this guy in every way, but that doesn't stop the new Sniper from being a freak all by himself. Just sitting there, in Snipes' seat being all weird looking and stuff. Plus, do you know what he went and admitted? What he straight up went and gave away?'

'No. No I do not, Scout.'

'Medic. He's on Contract Zero.'

'Wait. Really? He told you that?'

'Yeah! Went out and straight admitted it! Said he was going to be here for the next ten years! No other contract's that long. He has to be on Contract Zero. Do you know what that means?'

'Of course I know what that means. But look, Scout, we were hired as mercenaries. That's the bottom line description of who we are, regardless of class.'

'Yeah, but everyone we kill just comes back again. It's not real murder.'

'How many people here do you think had never killed anyone before joining RED or BLU?'

'I don't know. I don't care. It's not the same, Doc.'

'Not the same?'

'Yeah. It's not the same as being brought here straight off of Death Row.'

 

As quietly as he could, the Sniper fled the scene. 


	12. Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

The Blu Spy's night wasn't nearly as interesting as the RED Sniper's. In his base the mercs rarely gathered together to eat. The only regular exception was Sunday lunchtimes, when the Engineer insisted on cooking for all of them. Few of them enjoyed each other's company, but they always turned up all the same. The Engineer's cooking was worth a few arguments and smashed plates. It was also the only decent meal some of them had in the whole week. The Spy had no idea how a group of mercenaries could be so incompetent at something as simple as cooking. He, of course, always prepared a proper meal for himself after each battle. He had to keep his ingredients and leftovers locked away in a miniature fridge in his room, which was a hassle, but the only way to stop everything from being stolen.

That night he prepared himself a modest meal of chorizo carbonara, watched avidly by the BLU Scout. The boy acted like a dog begging for scraps. It didn't work. The Spy had no idea why he bothered, it never worked, though he suspected the Scout been the one to steal it on an occasion or two. Besides, all the Scout generally had to do was cheep like a hungry baby bird at the Engineer for a while, and he'd usually end up with something to eat.

When the Spy had first noticed those two getting close he'd been intrigued. Was their good, honest Christian Texan lusting after the innocent young Scout? Sadly not, it appeared. The truth was far more humdrum than that. It would simply appear they just had some kind of sickeningly sentimental father-son sort of bond.

The Spy had spent enough time, well, spying on them to be able to understand it. The Scout was the son of some low-class escort, the type who tried to set herself up as something more than just your average prostitute but didn't really have the class. The Spy would know, he'd slept with enough fancy escort girls. And the Scout's mother.

The Scout's mother's line of work had lead to there being very little in the way of strong male figures in the boy's life, and certainly nobody he'd call 'Dad'.

Then along came the Engineer, a calm, quiet, older man who'd sit and listen to his chatter no matter how inane, and give him advice without mocking him for his questions. That was in stark contrast to the rest of the men on the BLU team, most of whom ignored the Scout as much as they could, and were likely to punch him if he became too much of an annoyance. But there was always kind ol' Engie who he could go to when he was upset and angry, who'd appeared perfectly happy to hear all his whining and complaints.

It took the Spy longer to work out what the Engineer was getting out of the deal, but eventually he figured it out. The RED Engineer was better than him. He was cleverer, fitter, meaner, faster, younger and better looking. In short, he was the BLU Engineer's superior in every way. And they both knew it. No matter how hard he tried, the BLU was no match for his counterpart. It wasn't that he was a bad Engineer, just that his rival was much better. The Spy had watched his teammate's confidence in his own abilities chaff away under the strain of his own inadequacy. The kicker was probably the unspoken disappointment of his own team. They knew he wasn't good enough. Everyone knew he wasn't good enough.

But then there was the Scout, stupid little Scout who would watch him poring over his new blueprints with undisguised awe. The Scout didn't understand a thing about engineering, so anything new the labourer designed or built impressed him. The Spy himself didn't understand much about it either, but he was sure that engineering couldn't be as difficult as his teammate tried to make it look.

So the Scout got a father figure to listen to him and give him advice, while the Engineer got someone like a son who could look up to him with admiration and respect. It was all very disappointing to the Spy. So little room for blackmail.

 

As he shooed the Scout away from the hob and loaded his dinner onto his plate, the Spy found his thoughts drifting back to the only interesting subject around. The two new RED recruits.

He still hadn't put his plan for the Heavy, and by extension, Medic, into action yet. Should he do it tomorrow? Or Monday? He decided to wait to see how things were going in the next match before he decided.

Then his thoughts moved onto the new Sniper, and his fingers twitched around the cutlery in his right hand, as though he were holding his balisong and not a blunt fork. He still hadn't had chance to see his mark. As he left the kitchen for his room, the Spy promised himself he'd rip away the bandages tomorrow no matter how much the Sniper struggled.

 

It turned out that was promise to himself the Spy was forced to break. The bandages were gone, that much was obvious the next morning. What wasn't so obvious from behind was how the cut had come out. Uncharacteristically, the Spy fidgeted on the spot. It wasn't fair, he wanted the chance to have a good long look at the scar before he stabbed the Sniper in the back. The Sniper had his attention firmly fixed on a narrow hole in the wall in front of him, giving the Spy a wonderful view of his unprotected back, but not his face. Oh well, the Spy could adapt. Besides, he'd have time to look once the RED was dead

The Sniper had set himself up in the second storey of a building the old RED Sniper had favoured. This particular room was a long gallery with evenly spaced windows all along one side. Perfect for sniping from. But also very predictable. This new Sniper had shown a bit more initiative than the last, gauging a hole in the wooden wall with his kukri, and sticking his rifle through that. It afforded him a good view of the battlefield while making him almost impossible to spot. From outside the building, that is.

The Spy watched him crouched in the corner of the room, peering intently down his scope. Then the Sniper tensed. He was about to take a shot. The Spy should have stabbed him that second to protect his fellow BLUs, but he really didn't care much what happened to any of them. This time the man said nothing after the shot, so the Spy had no idea if he'd managed to take down one of his teammates or not.

It occurred to the Spy that that was out of character. When he'd watched the Sniper before, he'd muttered all kinds of little things under his breath, and berated himself for every missed shot. Now he was silent. The Spy continued to observe him as the Sniper reloaded, watching the way his shoulders moved with the action.

After two more shots the Spy grew fed-up of not knowing and stealthily approached the nearest window while cloaked. The shots were sporadic, as the BLU team's appearances were unpredictable, but the Sniper only missed one out of the six shots the Spy saw, and that one was aimed at the Scout.

All the while, Sniper didn't make a sound. The Spy crept closer to him. From his new vantage point he had a good view of the Sniper's face. It was just a pity it wasn't the side he really wanted to see. Why did the Sniper have to go and choose the right hand corner of the room to hide himself in? All the same, the Spy found it interesting studying the man from this angle. So far in their interactions, he'd mostly seen the Sniper show various signs of fear, anger and confusion. Now he could see a look of pure concentration on his face. The corner of his mouth didn't so much as twitch as he successfully took down another BLU. No emotion showed in his eyes behind his tinted sunglasses. He looked entirely professional.

The Spy's eye slid down to watch the Sniper's hands as he worked. Long fingers cupped the underside of his rifle, keeping it balanced and steady. His right hand held the stock, his forefinger ready on the trigger. It was almost hypnotic watching him reload. He didn't even look away from his scope when he did so, relying on muscle memory instead. Looking at the purple half-moon shaped bruise under his thumbnail, the Sniper obviously didn't always get the motion right, but he didn't fumble with the cartridges or catch himself in the mechanism once in all the time the Spy was there.

There seemed to be something a little odd about the Sniper's right hand, and it wasn't until he paused with it flat against the stock of his rifle that the Spy worked out what it was. The last two fingers were distinctly crooked in comparison to the others. It looked as though he must have broken them at some point and let them heal without getting properly set first.

Observant man that he was, the Spy noted something else as well. Both his own team's sniper and the old RED one had had rough, callused hands. This one's hands looked curiously smooth. And clean. Even his fingernails were neatly trimmed and devoid of dirt.

All of this seemed to be at complete odds with the impression the rest of the Sniper gave him. He appeared to be the rough, tough, outdoorsy type, and he clearly did know his way around a rifle. So why then, did he not have the callouses on his hands and ingrained dirt associated with the kind of man he seemed to portray himself as being? Was it just an act?

No, the Spy doubted it. His skill with his gun argued against that theory, and what would be gained from pretending anyway?

It seemed more likely to the Spy that for whatever reason, the Sniper must have had to turn his back on the hunting or sniping profession. Perhaps he'd became bored of that lifestyle and got himself a cushy nine-to-five office job. Maybe he was married with kids and his wife had made him give it up. He could have had to go into hiding after an assassination gone wrong. Or he could been locked up in prison for the last few years, for all the Spy knew.

Whatever the reason, the Sniper was here now. The Spy wondered if he was glad for the chance to take up his rifle again, or if circumstances had just forced him to. A relative in need of expensive surgery perhaps. Or a substantial gambling debt he had to pay off. There were so many reasons a man like the Sniper could end up here. He could even be on Contract Zero. It was unlikely, but the idea made the Spy smirk all the same.

 

Eventually he grew tired of watching and decided it was time to act. He took a step towards the Sniper and then froze as the plank beneath his feet creaked ever so slightly. His target immediately looked up, scanning the seemingly empty room for threats. It took him several minutes for him to finally settle back into looking down the sight of his rifle.

The Spy waited a couple more, then lunged for the Sniper. He wasn't quite at the right angle for a proper backstab, and a moment before the knife would have entered his side, the Sniper flinched away. He was pressed into the corner now, his opponent still invisible. But the tiny sound of fabric-on-fabric gave him away, just as it had a second ago. 

The Sniper swung his rifle up and to the right, towards the place he thought the Spy must be standing. He was rewarded with a winded 'oof' and blue sparks as the barrel collided with the Spy's stomach. The BLU stumbled back, flickering into sight.

The Sniper's grip on his gun tightened as he tried to work out what his best next move would be. He could club his rifle; hold it so the scope was underneath and the stock could act as a bludgeon. It wasn't the way he'd usually treat one of his weapons, especially not a rifle he'd built himself, but respawn would fix it next time he died. He could of course, use the gun as, well, a gun. He wasn't holding it the right way at all for that though, and by the time it was brought to bear, the Spy could easily get past the long muzzle, leaving the Sniper defenceless. That left his kukri, securely strapped to his belt. But that'd take even longer to get a proper hold on, and from the fights he'd had with the Spy so far, he knew the man was as quick as a viper.

Which made him wonder why the Spy hadn't used his enemy's hesitation to his advantage. He looked at the Spy's face and grimaced as he realised what had caught the BLU's attention.

 

_No. This is wrong. This is all wrong! That's not how it's supposed to look!_

He'd carefully planned the Sniper's mark out. It had been a long time since he'd last had the chance to leave one, and he'd wanted to make it perfect. He'd decided to do things a little differently than normal, turning his back on the traditional diagonal cut across the cheek. He'd had a vision for this mark of his. Deliberate and neat. Straight and precise. Distinctive and easily identifiable. He'd wanted to take the act of physical maiming and turn it into a little work of art.

But _this,_ this was not what he'd wanted at all! It was all raised and red and ugly, a great, brutal slash down the Sniper's face. It didn't fit the Spy's style at all; he was all elegance and class and the mark he'd left on the Sniper should have reflected that. The worst bit had to be the way it was tugging at one side of the Sniper's mouth, forcing a unsettling little half-smile on to his face. The man already had two odd-coloured eyes, he didn't need anything to further reduce the symmetry. Perhaps the Spy should have thought of that before he left a scar on one side of the man's face. It occurred to the Spy then that he could always give the Sniper a second, matching cut on the other cheek.

No. No he couldn't. That just wasn't the way he operated. He was a professional.

Though perhaps, not all that professional. As soon as he saw the Sniper's expression change, anger welled up in his chest. How dare the man sneer at him like that? How dare he mock him further by forcing that ugly scar to twist to the side on his face like that? The mark should have been perfect. The Sniper must have ruined it somehow. Yes. That was it. He'd purposefully made the cut worse just to spite the Spy, hadn't he? Just so that whenever someone looked at his face, they'd think the Spy has messed-up. Well. He wasn't about to let he Sniper get away with that. He'd have to pay for what he'd done.

 

Even though he'd known an attack was coming, the speed of it still took the Sniper by surprise. One moment the Spy was still, just standing there staring at him. The next a knife almost gutted him. He fended the blade off with a swing of his rifle. He hurriedly tried to fix his grip on it so he could shoot, but as he'd predicted, the Spy got himself inside the Sniper's defences before he could manage. He pulled the trigger a moment too late, managing to do nothing but add another small hole to the wall next to him. The blade came at his again, and he grabbed hold of the hot barrel of his rifle so he could use the gun as a solid barrier. To the surprise of both men, the erratic stab left the knife trapped between the barrel and the scope. Immediately the Sniper twisted the gun in his hands sharply, forcing it out of the Spy's hand. He pressed his advantage, shoving his rifle into the Spy's chest.

Before he could do anymore, the Spy retaliated with a sharp roundhouse kick into his side. It turned out that being kicked by a man wearing poncey little Italian shoes really hurt. The Sniper had no time to wonder how he managed to kick like that at all without ripping his fancy suit, as another quickly followed.

He lashed out at the Spy's leg with the butt of his rifle, but missed, and before he knew it another kick sent him reeling backward. The back of his legs hit against one of the blown-out windows. For a horrible, heart-lurching moment he felt like he was about to fall out of it, like he almost had the day before. He managed to steady himself just in time to glance up and see the Spy smirking at him. The danger registered, but before he could move a muscle, a foot slammed into his chest. A short shout of fear escaped him as he scrabbled for a handhold. It was no good. Gravity claimed him. The back of his legs caught on the windowsill for a moment, flipping him over as he fell through the air.

 

There was a dull thump a second later, then a long, low cry of pain.

The Spy peered down at the Sniper lying sprawled on his back on the ground. It amused the Spy to note he must have flipped over in the air with considerable force to have ended-up landing on his back. It was a pity that he landed on soft earth, and not the concentrate path a couple of meters away. If he'd landed on a harder surface he impact would probably have killed him straight out. It would have been better for him that way.

The Spy lit a cigarette and made his way downstairs.

 

He couldn't move his legs. His back must be broken. Could barely breath. Fractured ribs. Couldn't think straight. Head trauma. It hurt. It all hurt so much.

The Sniper put all his effort into just breathing. Small moans of pain escaped every time he exhaled. The sound gave him something to distract him from the pain. Gave him a way to express it. A way to release it.

He needed the Medic. Needed help. But he couldn't call for it.

His breath hitched as he heard slow footsteps approaching him. He knew it had to be the Spy. Nobody else would have approached at such a lazy pace or with such light steps.

The BLU Spy came into view, looking down at him with idle disinterest, a cigarette between his lips. It was as though the Sniper was a mildly interesting bug the Spy had spotted, rather than an enemy he'd just kicked out of a second storey window. He crouched down next to the Sniper and studied his predicament in silence.

The Sniper did his best to match the Spy's silence. There were many unpleasant words he'd like to say to the Spy swimming around his head, but he suspected that if he tried to say any of them he'd start making those little cries of pain again. He wanted to hide from the BLU just how badly hurt he was, even though he knew it was pointless. The Spy was no fool, and the Sniper couldn't move.

The Spy took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke into the Sniper's face. The RED coughed weakly, each motion jarring his injuries more. Tears threatened in the corners of his eyes. He tried to convince himself it was due to the smoke, but since he still had his sunglasses to protect them, it was unlikely.

When the Sniper was unable to muster any kind of retaliation against him, the Spy took that as a sign that'd it would be safe to touch the man. He pulled off a soft leather glove to expose his pale hands and ran one long finger down the scar on Sniper's face.

The Sniper's eyes went wide at the unexpected contact, and he jerked his face away.

'Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me,' he rasped.

The Spy gave a small, mocking laugh. 'I really don't think you're in any position to be giving me orders, Sniper. Now, if you asked me nicely...'

'Fuck off!'

The Spy went from looking bored by the whole situation, to enraged in a second. He grabbed hold of the RED's jaw and dug his thumbnail into the scar. The Sniper twitched, trying to pull away. He wished he could move his legs. Wished he could run. Wished he could even sit up.

'This is my mark, Sniper. This is mine. I don't know how you managed to let it get so disgusting. You ruined the perfect mark. But it's mine all the same.'

Though pain clouded the Snipers thoughts, he was still able to pull them together enough to feel incensed at the Spy's words.

'I—I didn't do anything!' he gasped, 'How that came out is all your own fucking fault. I didn't ask you—' He was forced to take a couple of deep, pained breaths before he was able to continue. 'I didn't ask you to leave a great fucking scar down my face! What is your problem? Why are you so—ouch!' He cut off again as the Spy increased the pressure, his nails digging in hard enough to draw blood under the Sniper's chin.

The Sniper twitched again, a sharp movement that ran down his body. Under his hips, one of the buckles that held his kukri in place scraped against a loose stone.

His kukri! The Sniper couldn't believe he'd forgotten his kukri. He would have thought that landing on the bloody thing would have been reminder enough, even with it safely in its sheath. Then again, he _had_ lost all sensation about halfway down his back. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage to pull it out if he couldn't shift his own weight and his arms felt like jelly, but he had to try.

The moment his hand shifted, the Spy's attention fixed on it, like a hawk spotting a mouse in the field below. He saw the hilt of the kukri as the Sniper reached for it and snarled, 'Oh no you don't!' He wrenched the Sniper's arm away and tugged it straight with enough force to shift the Sniper slightly, making him yelp in pain.

A moment later he screamed.

_He hasn't he hasn't hehasn'thehasn't._

Wave after wave of fresh pain rolled through the Sniper's palm and up his arm. He clenched his eyes shut against it and gritted his teeth, his breath coming out in short pants. Above him the Spy made a disappointed tutting noise. 'You brought that on yourself, Sniper. You know that, don't you?'

The Sniper ignored him, and using the last scrap of will he had left, forced himself to look around at his hand. There was a knife in the centre of it. The BLU's Spy's balisong. He must have pulled it free from the rifle before heading down. And now it was was standing up proud, wedged to the hilt through the Sniper's palm, pining his hand to the ground. His fingers kept wanting to twitch and flex in response to the pain, but that just made it so much worse. He let out a long, low groan at the sight.

'Oh, you bastard. You fucking bastard.' The Sniper's voice cracked as he spoke.

He was glad he still had his glasses on; he didn't want to Spy to see the way he had to blink so rapidly to fight off tears. Every bit of him hurt, but his hand was like an impossibly bright flare against the night sky. He'd never been in so much pain. And the worst thing of all? How utterly vulnerable he was. He couldn't move his legs. Couldn't move one of his arms. Could barely even lift his head. His free hand was balled into a tight fist.

A noise caught the attention of the Spy, and a moment later, filtered through to the Sniper. There were footsteps approaching. Two people. A voice said, 'I think it came from over here!' and hope swelled in the Sniper's chest.

_Medic!_

The Spy looked up in alarm. Then a slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face. The Sniper tensed, waiting for the BLU to finish him off before help could arrive. But he didn't. What he did do was, in the Sniper's opinion, far worse than the knife to the palm. And much more unexpected.

The Spy leant over the Sniper and kissed him. He crushed his lips against the Sniper's.

' _What?_ ' an alarmed voice said behind the Sniper. 'Ahueyet?' said another, followed by the sound of a minigun spinning up.

The Spy cloaked.

Whatever the Medic said next was in a language the Sniper couldn't understand, but he had a feeling that whatever he said wasn't polite. Medic rushed over. He didn't bother pausing to ask questions first, but said, 'Heavy, keep a lookout. Sniper, hold still. This is going to hurt.'

The Medic's words barely registered. He was too caught-up in his horror at what had just happened. He frantically wiped the sleeve of his free hand across his mouth, muttering through the fabric, 'That bastard. My God. I don't— _Why?_ Why would he—shit!'

The doctor had clamped one hand onto his wrist, and his pressed a knee down on to his fingers. With one hard tug he pulled the knife clean out of the ground and the Sniper's palm.

'Shit shit shit. That _hurt_.'

'Shush, I know,' the Medic replied. 'But it's done now.'

He aimed his medigun at the bloody hand. The Heavy loomed above them both, his minigun spinning menacingly as he scanned the nearby buildings for any signs of the Spy and the rest of the BLUs. He glanced down at the Sniper briefly, his heavy brow knitted in concern and confusion. 'Was that pidar beshenyi doing what I think?'

'I don't know why! I don't know why he— One minute he was stabbing me in the hand, then he—he _kissed_ me! I don't know why!'

'I do,' the Medic replied with a sigh. He didn't look at either of the other men as he spoke, instead choosing to inspect the Sniper's hand on both sides to make sure it had healed properly.

'He did it to humiliate you.'

'What? Well, it worked!' the Sniper snapped. As soon as he said it, he realised it was true. Anger and confusion was replaced by hot, burning shame. Two of his teammates had just witnessed his worst enemy practically _snogging_ him. Even though he'd done nothing to encourage the Spy's disturbing behaviour at all, he still felt deeply embarrassed about it. No, the Medic was right, _humiliated_ was the word for it.

Trying to distract him, the Medic asked, 'Can you stand?'

'No. Back's broken.'

'Ah,' said the Heavy, with dawning understanding.

'What?' the Sniper asked.

'Well, if back is broken, then that is why you not complain about the Spy's, ah, touch.'

'Touch?' the Sniper echoed. He was pretty damn sure that's exactly what he'd just been referring to, wasn't it?

'That pidar, he put hand on, well, between the legs.'

' _What?'_

There was a look of utter horror on the Sniper's face now. So not only had they seen the Spy sucking at his face, they'd also seen the bastard groping him.

The Medic made an irritated hissing noise in the back of his throat. 'Yes. For a man with so much pride, he has very little shame. I've written to the administration in the past about his conduct, but nothing's changed.'

He moved the medigun down the Sniper's chest, sending its healing beam into his cracked ribs and damaged spine. He purposefully avoided looking up as he worked, ignoring the curious stare of the other two mercenaries. They were too new to know what past events had prompted the Medic to that particular course of action.

'Right. Are you done?' he asked once he'd passed the medigun up and down the Sniper's whole body. Carefully, the Sniper pulled himself up onto his elbows and slowly staggered to his feet.

'Yeah. I'm alright now. Um, thanks, Doc.'

'No problem, just doing my job.' The Medic dragged himself back up too, hampered by the heavy pack on his back. 'Right, we better get back to the front line, Heavy.'

'And I better go get my rifle, it's still up there.' The Sniper gestured towards the room he'd fallen out of.

'Stay safe, Sniper,' the Heavy ordered as he and the Medic made to leave.

'I'll, uh, try,' Sniper replied. After a moment he called after them, 'Thanks again! And, um, sorry.'

'Sorry?' The Medic turned back to him for a moment. 'There is nothing for you to be sorry about. None of that was your fault.'

'We shall make Spy sorry,' the Heavy added with a growl.

As he watched them leave, Sniper managed to mutter, 'Yeah,' but he wasn't sure they would. That man seemed to be the devil himself. The Sniper doubted he had the imagination or the sadism that would be required to do anything to the Spy to upset him as much as he'd humiliated the Sniper.

He turned away from his departing teammates and went off to retrieve his rifle. The Sniper suspected he'd be useless with it for the rest of the day, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets as he stomped up the stairs.

He couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting back to what the Spy had done. He spat on the floor and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He swore he could still taste that disgusting man's vile cigarettes in his mouth.

Today had not been a good day so far.

As he picked up his abandoned gun from the floor, the Sniper found himself wondering if the Heavy and Medic knew that the Spy had continued to kiss him even after he'd cloaked.


	13. I've Nowhere to Stand and Now Nowhere to Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fantastic [ NastyLady](http://nastylady.tumblr.com/) drew some art based off this chapter, which has been added in near the end.  
> Image of the BLU Medic by me.

The Spy was having a great day. Humiliating the Sniper in front of his teammates like that had really helped make up for the unsatisfactory scar. There was a bounce in his step as he went off in search of more REDs to backstab and intelligence to steal. He had to fight hard to concentrate on the job though, he felt light-headed and nearly giddy with malicious glee. That had been precious. Utterly precious. The Sniper's reaction. The Heavy's face. The Medic's worry. The doctor had done his best to hide his emotions from the other two, but the Spy knew how to spot any and all of the man's little signs of weakness. There was little the RED Medic could hide from him.

It also gave the Spy enormous satisfaction to think back on those few moments after he'd cloaked. Immediately the Heavy and Medic had flinched, wildly looking around for any sign of where he might have gone. Completely unaware, of course, that he was still in exactly the same place as before. Just to give the Sniper something to think back on later that night.

 

In fact, the Sniper _was_ thinking about it right that moment. He knew he should be concentrating on shooting BLUs from his new hurriedly found nest, but he couldn't stop himself dwelling on what had happened with the Spy. He kept absent-mindedly rubbing his shirt sleeve against his mouth, as though that could help rid himself of the memory of the kiss. The Sniper wasn't sure which was worse, the way the BLU had crushed those thin smirking lips against his own, or his wandering hands. It was disconcerting, knowing that someone had been groping him while he'd been completely unable to feel what was going on. He decided though that that was probably marginally better than being a hundred percent aware of what it felt like to have your worst enemy's hands all over your junk.

The appearance of three BLUs distracted him from his unpleasant thoughts. He managed to headshot their Soldier and wing their Demoman, but wasn't able to get a new cartridge in place in time to finish him off. The Scot and the other BLU, their Medic, ducked undercover and out of sight. The Sniper decided he better move again now that he'd given his position away. Maybe if he really threw himself into this match he could distract himself from what had happened earlier and make up for his lack of successful kills. The Sniper was sure he must have the got the lowest score of any man on the battlefield over the last five days. With all this trouble he'd been having with the Spy recently, it hadn't given him much chance to improve.

The next place he moved to had a decent view of the main bridge that gave Double Cross its name. He carefully tracked their Pyro jog across it, certain he'd seen a flash of blue a moment ago.

_Aha! There!_

A shot rang out. The Pyro jumped and spun around to see the BLU Spy crumple to the ground behind them. After a moment of surprised staring, they gave a big wave in the Sniper's general direction and then ran off into the enemy base.

With a sigh, the Sniper decided he'd better move yet again. He'd never been more keen to avoid the Spy than he was now. Still, he reassured himself, only a few more hours and then they'd all be off for the weekend. No more BLU Spy for a whole two days.

 

Apart from one very sudden death that he suspected was the work of the Spy, the Sniper didn't spot the BLU once during the rest of the match. He wondered if the Heavy and Medic had seen him at all. They definitely looked more on edge than normal, with the Medic constantly glancing over his shoulder and the Heavy firing off his gun at the slightest sign of movement. The two of them seemed to be acting more aggressively than usual as well, as though they felt the need to avenge Sniper by killing as many BLUs as possible. From the frustrated and angry looks on their faces, the Sniper presumed that none of those BLUs had been the Spy. Chances were the Spy knew he'd done the equivalent of hitting a wasps nest with a short stick when he'd had his bit of fun with the Sniper, and was currently staying as far away as possible to avoid getting stung for it.

RED lost the round, three-to-one. While the Medic being on high-alert and the Heavy spraying bullets all over the place helped a lot with Spy-checking, it did little for their efforts against the other BLUs. Their Sniper took advantage of the distracted Medic to take him and his partner out several times. The Demoman and Soldier had repeatedly waited until the Heavy had completely depleted his bullet supply and then jumped out to blow the two men to pieces. Even the BLU Heavy-Medic team had taken advantage of the situation by taking them head-on while they were angry and frustrated and prone to making more mistakes.

Unfortunately for the Sniper, the Spy couldn't resist returning for one last jab at him once the match finished and the humiliation round began. The Sniper had just respawned moments before after a neat headshot from his counterpart, meaning he had no time to run away and find himself a good hiding place. A rocket burst against the main door of the respawn room and he heard the Engineer shout out in pain as shrapnel caught him. As soon as he was dead, the BLU Soldier was bound to enter the room looking for more REDs.

The Sniper turned on his heels and ran for the other exit. His boots clunked noisily against the metal stairs and he ended up simply jumping down the last four. He turned to run away from the bridge and towards the battlement only to trip over something. The Sniper went crashing to the ground, cutting his chin open on the hard concrete and chipping a couple of teeth as his jaw clacked shut.

The sharpshooter gingerly peeled himself away from the ground, looking around to see what he'd fallen over. Of all the times to be clumsy, this was probably the worst. Except he couldn't see what he could possibly have tripped on. Deciding it really didn't matter and that he needed to be getting out of there, the Sniper made to get back up again.

Something slammed into his side and before he knew it he was sprawled on the floor again, this time on his back. He'd had more than enough of ending up like that recently, and immediately tried to get away. Before he could a weight fell onto his stomach and blue flickers above him resolved into the shape of the Spy.

'Oof! Ah. Fuck.'

'You know, Sniper, this is a good look for you. You should end up beneath me more often.' There was a playful smirk on the Spy's face, which the Sniper attempted to punch off. The masked man merely leant away from the blow, shifting his weight on top of the Australian, making him grunt in pain.

'Fuck off! Get your bony ass off me!'

'Make me,' the Spy replied childishly, so the Sniper punched him in the gut. This time it was the BLU's turn to go, 'Oof!' as the air was driven out of his lungs.

The marksman drew up one leg beneath himself and arched his back, trying to twist his hip up and to the side to buck the Spy off. The Frenchmen clenched his legs together, digging his sharp knees into the Sniper's ribs, and grabbed on to the RED's vest to help anchor himself in place. This left him without any arms to block the Sniper's fists and he received several blows to his sides and stomach as the taller man continued to squirm beneath him.

But as anyone who'd ever tried to fight off an attacker during the humiliation round knew, you couldn't struggle for long. As well as whisking away your weapons into respawn the moment the Administrator announced, 'You failed!', losing also seemed to drain all your energy away. In contrast, the winners often felt stronger than usual in a way that was reminiscent of being ubercharged, though not as extreme.

So the Sniper's attempts to throw the Spy off of him soon became weaker and weaker until they ceased altogether. Seeing that he wasn't likely to be dislodged anytime soon, the masked man let go of the Australian's clothes and grabbed hold of his wrists. It was little effort at all to capture them, and practically none at all to pin them to the ground on either side of his head. The Spy's tie came loose from its usual place, neatly tucked into his jacket, and the tip of it brushed against the Sniper's chest every time he breathed in. He glared up at the Spy, his jaw locked and blood trickling down his throat from where he split open his chin. The BLU had noticed that his enemy rarely made eye contact with him, or with anyone at all, so having him stare right back at him with those strange eyes of his only served to make him feel even more triumphant.

He leant in towards the Sniper, but avoided getting close enough for the man to try and head butt him. There was an unpleasant little smile on his face, and he made a show of licking his lips before saying in a hushed voice, 'Well, shall we continue where we left off?'

As expected, the REDs reaction was priceless. His eyes widened behind his glasses as a look of horror spread across his face.

'God, no! Don't. Don't. Get off!

'Don't get off?'

'No!'

'No, don't get off?'

'No! I mean— just fuck off!'

'Fuck? Well... I don't see why not.'

'What? No!'

The Sniper's voice cracked on the last 'no' and the Spy couldn't help but laugh.

He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or even more worried when a new voice spoke up.

'Having fun down there are we, herr Spy?'

The two of them looked around to see the BLU Medic leaning against the railing just above them.

Blood was dripping from the bonesaw in his hand on to the concrete below and the rest of him was so spattered with gore he could have been mistaken for a RED at a glance. Except no one could ever mistake him for the RED Medic. He was considerably younger and looked as though one of his grandparents must have been a stick insect. He favoured a strange kind of healing crossbow over the medipack, probably because he struggled to carry the latter. Where as the Sniper struggled to pin down his team mate's accent, this Medic's was obvious. He was German. Very German. So German that he sounded more like a villain from a hammy low budget film than an actual human being. The Sniper often found himself wondering, as he heard the man's shrill shouting off in the distance, if he put it on for some reason, or if it was just his real accent.

The Medic began to make his way down the stairs towards them, making the Spy scowl and the Sniper struggle to try and escape again.

'Well, I _was_ having fun,' the masked man replied at last, putting his weight onto the marksman's arms to keep them pinned down.

'Don't stop on account of me.' He continued towards them both, the bloody bonesaw still held tightly in his hand. There were clumps of light brown hair stuck between the teeth. It looked as though the last person he'd sent to respawn had been the RED Scout.

When he got too close, the Spy snapped, 'He's mine!' as though he were an over-possessive dog, and the Sniper, his favourite toy.

'Oh, I can see that. I'm not going to get in the way of you two. I was just curious to see what's going to happen next.'

The Australian made a growling noise in the back of his throat as he attempted yet again to dislodge the Spy.

'Ooh, still fighting is he?'

'Some people just don't know when they're beaten.'

'Then again, you wouldn't be having nearly as much fun if he weren't writhing beneath you, would you, herr Spy?'

'Shut up!' he snapped, digging his fingers hard into the Sniper's wrists. 'You said you want to see what happens next? Well here you go.'

He let go of the sharpshooter's arms and drew out his balisong with a flourish. He swept it up into the air above the RED and brought it down again in an arc, aiming straight for the man's chest. Now it was the Sniper's turn to grab hold of the Spy's wrists, stopping him dead. The blade loomed over the marksman, as the Spy gripped it in both his hands.

'Ah, very dramatic,' the Medic said.

'The plucky hero fights off the man attempting to use him for a human sacrifice. Planning on raising the dead today or something, are you?'

The Spy didn't say anything, only grinned. That was pretty much the effect he was going for, minus the necromancy. Below him the Sniper looked disconcerted. He'd managed to stop the Spy, hadn't he? So why was he still smiling so widely?

Then the the masked man began to lean his weight in over the knife. The Australian's breathing hitched as he found himself having to fight harder and harder to keep the knife where it was. Even with his arms out straight and his elbows locked, he was struggling. The tip of the blade wavered above him as his arms began to shake. The Spy continued to smile as he slowly increased the pressure. With so much of his weight leaning over his front, the Sniper should have been able to take the opportunity to throw his attacker off of him, but all his effort had to go into keeping that balisong out of his chest.

In situations like this in the movies, the knife would always slowly, inexorably move towards the person underneath at a steady rate until they were able to wrestle themselves free at the last minute. Unfortunately for the Sniper, this wasn't a movie. Instead, there simply came a moment when the pressure became too great for him to withstand and his arms gave way.

There was a solid 'thunk' as the blade slammed straight into his chest and passed between his ribs. For a moment it felt like he'd simply been punched. He was in too much shock to do anything but brace himself for the pain. Instead, something about his breathing felt off. He coughed hoarsely and the feeling grew worse. Then coughed again. There was a metallic taste at the back of his throat.

'Nicely done,' the Medic admitted, 'Right in the left lung. He'll drown in his own blood. Wonderful way to go. You might want to help things along though, this round's almost over.'

The Spy frowned at him, then nodded. As far as he could work out, the length of the humiliation rounds were random. Sometimes they only lasted a couple of minutes, other times, twenty. Somehow though, the BLU Medic always seemed to have a feel for how long each one was likely to go on for. If he said to hurry up, the Spy had better.

It was as the Frenchman pulled his hands away from the balisong to fetch out another knife that the Sniper realised something. He'd been clutching tightly on to the Spy's wrists the whole time. He'd practically been keeping the man's hands pressed against his chest and around the blade in-bedded in it.

Respawn took away the memories of whatever happened next.

The machine spat him back out just a few minutes later, proving that the BLU Medic had been right. The room the Sniper found himself in was the main respawn, the proper one deep in their base that housed the gigantic machine that brought them back from the dead again and again. The place they started every match in was often referred to as 'the respawn room' but really it was just the resupply room they were sent back to after every death during a fight. This one, the real respawn, was where you ended up after every humiliation round in which your team lost. Even if you didn't die it would drag you back there. The Sniper had asked about that and been told by the Engineer that it was to stop the winning team from keeping hold of an enemy to torture after hours. The Australian had decided after that that perhaps he didn't mind the uncomfortable feeling of being claimed by respawn alive so much after all.

He rubbed at the spot on his chest where the knife had stabbed through him. Even though there was no marks left on him and the pain was gone, the Sniper could swear he could feel the ghost of the pressure lingering there. He breathed deeply just to double check that he could.

'Sniper, man, you know you look really weird just standing there rubbing your boobs and starring into space, right?' It was the Scout of course.

'What? Hey! I don't have—I'm not—It's just—'

The Scout laughed at the taller man's indignant spluttering and something that was practically _giggling_ could be heard from under the Pyro's mask.

Irritably, the Sniper turned away from both of them and went to fetch the weapons respawn had so graciously snatched away from him at the end of the match out if his locker. He paid no attention as the Scout continued to yammer on about something, laughing at his own jokes. He was probably poking fun at the Sniper again but he refused to allow himself to tune back in again. He didn't want to know.

Someone approached the marksman from behind and he was just about to move out of their way when a red gloved hand settled on his shoulder. The RED Medic. He did that a surprising amount for someone who appeared to be so businesslike and stoic. There was something oddly fatherly about the gesture.

'You all right, Sniper?'

'Yeah. Just another, uh, unpleasant little death there at the end. It's over now though so it doesn't matter.'

'BLU Spy again?'

'Who else?'

'Don't worry,' the Medic joked, 'You've got plenty of time to get brutally murdered by all the other BLUs as well.'

Somehow, that didn't really help.

The Medic gave him another comforting pat on the shoulder and made to leave the room. Sniper was the last one in there, and as he buckled his kukri back on to his belt a thought occurred to him.

'Um, Doc?' he shouted after the medic.

The Medic turned back around to face him and waited patiently while the Sniper hurried to catch up with him. He didn't feel like saying this next bit in a raised voice, even if no one else appeared to be around.

'You and Heavy, you wont, uh, you wont tell anybody what happened, will you? You know, earlier?'

'No, of course not,' the doctor reassured him. 'I've already spoken to Heavy about this. The Spy only does this kind of thing to get attention and we're not going to allow him to get any more by telling the rest of the team what he's been up to.'

'Right. Um, thanks.' He wasn't sure how he felt about the Heavy and Medic discussing what had happened behind his back, but at least they weren't planning on spreading the story around the base. Imagine if it had been the Scout who'd spotted the Spy assaulting him. The whole team would have probably heard to tale four or five times by now.

'Will we be seeing you at dinner?' the Medic asked.

The Sniper frowned down at the floor, thinking. 'No,' he decided, 'I don't think you will.'

 

The Medic ended up setting a place at the table for him anyway, but true to his word the Sniper stayed away. The Scout complained loudly to anyone who would listen about what an antisocial weirdo he was. When the doctor tried to defend the Australian, the Scout accused him of trying to stick up for his boyfriend. It wasn't until the Heavy calmly turned to look straight at him and quietly told him to shut up that he finally stopped.

 

 


	14. Snipers and Snooker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a lie. It's pool, not snooker. In my defence I didn't know that until I double-checked a couple of terms. I kept the title though because I appreciate a little bit of sibilance and it will match the next chapter's better.  
> Also, this chapter ended up only covering half of what I planned for it. The rest will follow shortly, then there will be a longer wait for the next one while I write another chapter for my Alex Rider fic. Sorry about that!

The Sniper woke up at eight, still not used to going to bed in the early hours of the morning and getting up late. The rest of the team should all be asleep, used to the strange sleeping patterns. Though the Heavy was new too, he seemed to have had no problem adjusting. That could be said all round really, in stark contrast to the Sniper. He still felt out of place, both with his team and the work he was required to do. But it was Saturday, and early. He wouldn't have to worry about either for a while.

Though there was a cramped little bathroom of sorts in his van, the facilities in the base were much better. Towel, clothes and toiletries bag tucked under his arm, the Sniper padded down the empty corridors, enjoying the rare peace. He also very much enjoyed the shower. He'd been expecting an open tiled room full of battered old shower heads that spluttered out lukewarm water if you were lucky. That's what he'd became used to over the last three years or so.

Instead there were five separate little cubicles, each one with a dry area where you could leave your clothes, and a shower behind a heavy plastic curtain that stopped the water from escaping out. The floor was often a little damp and muddy (and bloody) after a match, but there was a bench across one side to keep your clothes out of the way. The Sniper presumed that he had the secrecy of the Spy class to thank for the individual units. Apparently the mask was not only part of the uniform but something they were expected to wear whenever anybody else was around. Since they couldn't be expected to shower in the masks too, there had to be separate cubicles. The marksman didn't know if his theory was an accurate one or not, but regardless of the reason behind it, he was glad not to be sharing communal showers any more. He'd had more than enough of those awful things.

The Sniper knew exactly who to thank for the powerful jet of hot water pouring over him as he lathered up his hair. The Engineer had explained earlier that week that he maintained all the plumbing and electrical elements of their base himself as he didn't trust anybody else to do it. With the amount of changes and improvements he'd made, the Sniper doubted anybody else trying to fix things would have a clue what to do. He'd almost made a joke about how difficult the high ceilings and shower heads must make the job for the short Texan, but had bitten the words back at the last minute. The sharpshooter really wasn't sure where he stood with the Engineer yet and suspected that teasing the man about his height was something few people could get away with.

  
  


After showering and changing into clean clothes, the Sniper went back to dump the rest of the stuff back into his camper van. He'd been offered a room in the base but turned it down. Now that he was finally reunited with his old home, he felt no inclination towards sleeping inside.

Once inside he brewed himself his first cup of coffee of the day. The Sniper never allowed himself to have it before he was washed and changed, telling himself that if he was able to manage that then he mustn't be completely reliant on the stuff.  Plus, it was a great motivator for getting his ass out of bed and on with the day. However, he'd definitely be heading straight back into the base for some breakfast once he'd finished the coffee. He had basic cooking facilities in his van but no food at all. There'd been no chance to stock up before he ended up at the base, and he wasn't allowed to leave the site for the first three months, according to the contract. Really, he was on some kind of trial period right now, and with all the difficulties he'd been having with the Spy, he wasn't sure how well he was doing. If he behaved himself for the three months and did a good enough job, then the ten year contract would officially start. If he didn't... Well, he wasn't sure what would happen to him. Nothing good.

Even if the Sniper had been allowed off the base and reached the nearest town (he had no idea what the place was called, only that the team referred to it as 'Town' with a capital t and that the next closest one was miles and miles away), he didn't have any money to spend. Well, he did. Just a little bit; fifty dollars he'd safely hidden away in his van for emergencies, but breakfast cereal and toast were not emergencies. Besides, the marksman already had plans for that money, once he was finally allowed out to spend it.

The Sniper mourned the loss of his bank account and everything in it. It wasn't a huge sum in the grand scheme of things, but still, it had been his entire life savings. He had no idea what had happened to that money. Where did it go when you died without a will? To his next of kin, the Sniper guessed. He hoped his parents appreciated the extra cash.

Really, he was still mourning his own death in a way. Well at least, the end of his old life. It had been a very final one. A grave with his name on it. An article in the newspaper. A funeral. He couldn't think of anyone who would have turned up for that though.

Once (well, if) he made it through the trial period and RED started paying him, then he could buy his own food. The money really wasn't much, not enough to actually live on by itself, but the Sniper guessed he just had to be glad they were intending to give him anything at all. They certainly didn't have to. After all, who could a dead man go to to complain about his rights?

  
  


He was on to his fourth slice of toast before one of his team mates appeared. It was the Spy, looking as wide awake and immaculately dressed as usual. He gave the Sniper a nod in greeting and headed straight for the coffee machine.

'Want one?'

'Nah, thanks. Not keen on the brand.' The Sniper was a creature of habit and preferred to stick to the same type of coffee permanently. He was always afraid that they might one day decide to discontinue it, so he'd made a habit in the past of bulk-buying it just in case. That meant he had plenty of it still; certainly enough to last him until he could go out and buy some more.

'You weren't at dinner last night.'

'Didn't fancy it.' He'd nicked a couple of apples from the fruit bowl earlier that day and had made do with those.

'I hope you'll be around tonight, it's my turn to cook.'

The Sniper thought of having to face the Heavy and Medic again after they'd seen him get humiliated by the Spy, and of having to put up with the Scout's animosity. It didn't sound appealing. The Spy had turned to look straight at him though, and the sharpshooter couldn't think of a decent excuse to give so he just said, 'Sure. What time do you lot eat on the weekends?'

'Nine-ish usually. It might be a little later than usual tonight though. I can send Scout round to knock on your door.'

'Nah, that's all right. I'll wander back in later, no need to bother the kid.' He hadn't been alone with the Scout since the young man had found him after that one match where he'd been scarred. Since then he seemed to have gained a real dislike for the Sniper, so he didn't fancy spending more time with the Scout than was strictly necessary.

  
  


The Sniper had all day to kill and not much to do with it. He spent his time just getting on with simple little things. Laundry, weapon maintenance, oiling the hinges on his camper doors, getting rid of the leaves and dirt that had accumulated where its roof dipped down slightly in the middle. Just stuff that needed doing and kept him busy. Anything really to keep himself from dwelling on where his life had ended up. Self-pity wouldn't get him anywhere. The Sniper didn't merit anybody's pity anyway, not even his own. He was a murderer after all, wasn't he? He deserved every god damn shitty thing that happened to him.

Maybe even the BLU Spy.

  
  


He ended up heading back into the base at eight. The Sniper generally wasn't one for seeking out company, but he'd been found himself far too tied up in his own maudlin thoughts despite his best efforts. He needed to find a better distraction. The Marksman found himself gravitating towards the rec room, partly because he could hear voices coming from in there, but mostly because of a familiar, irregular clunking noise. Peering around the door frame he spotted the Soldier and Demoman playing a game of pool in the corner. The Demoman was leaning on his cue stick, looking around in a bored manner while he waited for the Soldier to decide which ball to aim for next. His wandering gaze alighted on the Sniper and he waved to him.

'Come in, Sniper, we don't bite! Wanna play?'

Embarrassed at being caught snooping around the corner, the marksman nodded mutely and went to join them.

'You can be on my team. Scout's on Soldier's He didn't think being on a one-eyed man's side was a good idea, but I'm gonna show him!'

_ Oh. The Scout. _

As if summoned by his name, the runner walked back into the rec room from the kitchen. 'Hey, guys, I have no idea what Spy's making but he's actually taken his gloves off for it!'

He caught sight of Sniper and his face fell. 'Oh, you.'

Confusion flitted across the Demoman's face as the Scout's cold greeting.

'He's gonna be joining us, you got a problem with that, kid?'

'No,' the younger man said, then added in a mutter, 'as long as he's not on my side.'

The oblivious Solder broke the tension by finally taking a shot. He hit the cue ball so hard it sent one of the others flying off the table. It was an impressive feat, and one that must have been achieved before, if the dents in the walls were anything to go by.

As Scout went ferreting under a nearby couch in search of the missing ball, the demolitions expert handed a spare cue and some chalk over the the Australian.

'You any good at this game, Sniper?' he asked.

'Not bad,' the sharpshooter replied with a casual shrug. 'Bit rusty though.'

The Scout returned with the ball and placed it down roughly where it had been before it'd made its brief attempt at flight. He glanced up in the Sniper's direction and said under his breath, 'so they don't let yah play pool on the inside? Too scared someone's gonna start bashing in heads with billiard balls?'

The marksman pretended not to hear, deciding to concentrate on watching the Demoman take his shot instead. It wasn't a bad one, it only just missed going in but it caught the Scout's attention.

'Ha! Nowhere near! I'll show you how a man with two eyes does it!'

Which turned out to be not all that well at all. The Scout not only failed to pocket anything, but he missed the ball he was aiming for entirely.

'Foul,' the Sniper muttered. Ignoring the runner's scowl he stepped up to the table and carefully took aim. Pool was a lot like sniping in that it took careful aim and precision, though there was usually a lot less homicide involved. The Australian would be first to admit he wasn't good at much, but pool and snooker were one of those rare things he was. The Sniper allowed himself a small, rare smile as the ball he he'd been aiming for glided straight into the opposite pocket.

'Ah, nice one,' the Demoman said from behind him.

The Sniper walked around the table, looking for his next shot. The last one really hadn't been as good as it had looked; he'd almost snookered himself. It was going to be tricky, but if he bounced the white off the side just like- just like that. A second ball slide into a pocket, the Sniper relishing the dull clunk and whirr as it rolled down inside the table to join the other potted balls.

He was just setting up a third shot when the Scout spoke up, 'Hey! You've already had two goes!'

'Yeah, but he sunk one each time. Means he gets to go again.' the Demoman informed him. The Sniper nodded his agreement and went back to trying to figure out his next move. There was another of their balls almost perfectly lined up with the pocket diagonally across, but the table was old and battered and there was a large gauge out of the cloth right in his path. He ended up aiming for a different ball instead that would be harder to get in but didn't have any extra obstacles in the way. Unfortunately he didn't quite hit it hard enough, leading to the ball rolling to a stop an inch or so away from the pocket.

'I'll get that one' the Demoman said cheerfully as they watched the Soldier painstakingly line up a shot that went fantastically wrong.

They ended up winning that game, and the one after that. Scout was just trying to get the Sniper to agree to a one-on-one match (as he blamed the Soldier for their two loses, something the Soldier wasn't happy about) when the Spy opened the door and called to them that dinner was ready.

The Scout immediately tossed his cue aside with a cry of, 'finally!' and dashed out of the room. The other three approached the door to the kitchen at a more sensible pace. Before they could reach it, the Scouts loud voice echoes out of the room.

'What the fuck is this?'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the mystery! Oh the suspense! What culinary horror could the Spy have cooked up for them? Or is the Scout just overreacting? (Yes, Scout's just overreacting.)
> 
> On an unrelated note, I'm thinking of changing the name of the fic. Though the story was influenced by the 'Villainous Crush' subcategory of the Foe Yay trope I think its gained enough character by this point to deserve its own name.  
> I haven't decided what it's going to be yet. 'Pressure Point(s)' would be very relevant to the plot later on and to over-arching themes in the story. But something like, 'You Bend Till You Break' would also work for the over all plot and sounds a little more suitably ominous. I'm definitely open to suggestions on this one, if anybody has any.  
> I'll also be updating the fic description when I've changed the name as the current one only really covers the initial set-up of the story and not the direction of the plot so much.


	15. Humble Abode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing art for this chapter was done by [leoleoteterev](http://leoleoteterev.tumblr.com/post/158110765605/%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D1%82-%D0%BA-15-%D0%B9-%D0%B3%D0%BB%D0%B0%D0%B2%D0%B5-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D1%84%D0%B8%D0%BA%D0%B0-foe-yay-%D0%B0%D0%B2%D1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D1%81%D1%82%D0%B2%D0%B0) (Click link for rebloggable image)

The RED team were predictable. They allowed themselves to fall into routines. It was very unprofessional. Routine gets you killed because it tells people exactly where you are going to be, and when. Or when you are not going to be somewhere.

It was only half eight, so perhaps a little early, but the BLU Spy had had a boring day so far and he was itching to live up to his class name. He wasn't really supposed to go sneaking around the enemy base, but spies always got away with more than the others could. They tended to be the Administrator's favourites. Besides, what she didn't know couldn't harm her. The same could not be said for most people. Especially when spies were involved.

Currently the BLU meant no real harm to anybody (a rare occurrence), he simply wanted to do some snooping around in the new REDs' rooms while they weres busy eating dinner. The masked man made a habit of looking around the bedrooms of new recruits on both sides of the war. He liked to find out as much information as he could about each new enemy or ally. If that required him breaking into their private rooms, then that was fine on him.

He knew exactly where the Heavy and Sniper would be staying, in the first door on the left of the second floor, and the third one along to the right. Those were the two rooms that previously belonged to the men they were replacing. First of all though the Spy was going to have a look through the ground floor windows. If there was no sign of his targets in the communal rooms then he'd wait patiently for them to appear for dinner before breaking in.

As The BLU was making his way around the back of the building though, something strange caught his eye. A van was parked at the edge of the clearing. Interest piqued, the Spy double-checked he was invisible and strode over to the vehicle. It was nothing special to look at, a scuffed old thing in cream and beige. The high-set window with its little yellow curtains confused the Spy until he realised that this must be the kind of van with living quarters inside. He pulled a face at the thought of trying to make-do with such a cramped space.

Wondering who it belonged to, the Frenchman walked around the vehicles, looking for clues. He found the giveaway in the form of a small silver kangaroo charm hanging from the rear-view mirror.

_Ah. The Sniper._

For all he knew, the van might be nothing more than the Australian's poorly-chosen mode of transport, but the Spy wanted to see inside. Of course, there was a chance the man might actually be in there right that second, so perhaps best to check before he picked the lock.

Abandoning it for the moment, the BLU redirected to his original goal. After waiting until his cloaking device was charged again, he peered into the kitchen window. There was nobody in there but the RED Spy, completely obvious and content in his own little world as he worked on something. Probably dinner for his team. What a good little cook. He'd make someone a nice house wife one of these days.

Smirking at the thought , the masked man moved on to the rec room. There he found the Sniper, leaning over RED's battered old snooker table, taking a shot. The Spy found himself distracted by the sight, watching the tall man neatly pot a yellow ball, and then moving around the table to do so again. It wasn't until the game ended (with Sniper and Demoman the clear winners) that he realised he'd just been standing there watching the marksman the entire time. Even when he'd been slouched against the back wall between turns, his lanky legs crossed over each other and that awful slouch hat of his shadowing his face.

The Spy managed to tear himself away at last, telling himself that he'd just been gathering more information on the Sniper, and reminding himself that there would be more to find within that camper van. It was very easy to break into; the side door only had a simple locking mechanism. Glancing around to make sure no one was in sight, the Frenchman pulled open the door slightly, just enough to let himself slip inside.

His first impression was that the place wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. The second, that it was a treasure trove of information about the enemy Sniper. From the looks of things this must be where he was staying instead of in the base. He lived out here. All alone. With just one useless little lock between him and the outside world.

The Spy stepped inside, carefully pulling the door closed behind him. He'd been expecting a messy, dark little hovel with a pungent, lived-in smell to it. He'd been pre-judging the Sniper too much based off the behaviours of other members of his class. The place was small, yes, and a little bit cluttered, but that was the worst that could said for it.

Though the front and side-facing curtains were drawn shut for privacy, the one on the right hand-side of the van that looked out onto the forest beyond was wide open. Though over-shadowed, this allowed plenty of light in on the long spring evening for the Spy to have a good look around. The curtains weren't actually yellow, that was just the effect of long exposure to the sun. Amusingly, on the inside they turned out to be a deep blue colour, along with the seat covers. The Spy assumed that none of the Sniper's team mates had been inside the van, else the upholstery would probably be looking rather singed and bullet-ridden by now.

The masked man sniffed the air. There was a slight edge of must to the room, as though it hadn't been used for quite some time, but over the top of that was a mixture of lemons, an unfamiliar brand of laundry detergent and something smokey that wasn't cigarettes. It was a clinging, strangely exotic smell he'd noticed on the Sniper, along with sweat, aftershave, metal and gunpowder. He tracked the source to a long, chipped wooden box with a pattern of holes on the top  laying on top of a shelf near the door. The Spy opened it and poked a gloved finger into the grey ash inside. Incense. The Sniper burnt cheap incense sticks. It amused the BLU for some reason. He could just imagine his team's Soldier's disgusted cry of 'hippie!' at the sight.

Next to the incense burner there was a collection of different knick-knacks and curios cluttering up the rest of the shelf. The Spy made a note of exactly where they were placed and one by one picked them up to have a closer look. A scattering of old and unusual coins from different countries. A collection of teeth of all shapes and sizes, including two that might have been human. Three cheap looking golden bangles, one slightly squashed in the middle. A piece of flint in the shape of an arrow head. The delicate skull of a bird. An old silver ring with an opal in the centre and a ring of tiny emeralds around it, one of them missing.

Beside that was another polished opal, a black one. As the Spy turned it over in his fingers, the colours inside flashed red, blue, green and orange. Though small, it was of an excellent quality and utterly flawless. An expensive stone that could have only come from a couple of places in Australia. He put it back down reluctantly, the item next to it catching his eye. The Spy very carefully pulled the flat little fleck of metal over the edge of the shelf, catching it in his other palm. Though no larger than his smallest fingernail, and wafer thin, the glittering gold piece of australium in his hand was probably the most valuable item in the whole room. Either the Sniper wasn't aware of its true worth or he valued it highly for sentimental reasons, else he would surely have sold it on by now. An idea for why the marksman might choose to keep it popped into the Spy's head and he couldn't help laughing to himself as he pictured the marksman rubbing it above his upper lip, desperately hoping it'd help him grow a proper Australian moustache.

Still smirking at the mental image, the masked man slide the australium back to its original location. There was just one last item left on the shelf, a Smissmas card. Wondering why on earth the Sniper still had it out on display in in April, the Spy plucked it up to have a closer look at it. The card was dog-eared and scuffed, with a simple motif of a kangeroo in a smissmas hat embossed on the front. He opened the card and read the message inside.

_Merry Smissmas, Nat!!!_

_It's such a pity you couldn't make it home in time but I'm glad to know you wont be alone this year! We hope you'll be able to get time off work to come visit us soon, if you don't hurry up the pups are all going to have grown up and gone to new homes without you ever getting a chance to meet them! And you make sure to bring this lovely new lady of yours with you! Your father and I are dying to meet her, she must be something really special!_

_-Lots and lots of love from Mum and Dad!_

The Spy turned the card over to see if there was anything else on the back. Nothing. He flipped it back open again to re-read the note.

_God this woman likes to abuse exclamation marks._

But what else was there the Spy had learnt from the message? For one, that the Sniper's mother called him 'Nat'. The BLU assumed it was short for something other that 'Natalie' but he couldn't think what else it could be. Both the Sniper's parents seemed to still be alive, and most likely living in Australia. Or at least they were when this card was sent. He wondered how old it was. From its battered condition and faded ink the Spy couldn't help but suspect it wasn't from last December. He also found himself wondering if this 'lovely new lady' was still with the Sniper or not. Probably not. He was surprised anybody had agreed to date the man in the first place. Actually, chances were the woman didn't even exist. The Sniper could have invented her to keep his parents happy. Yes, that was probably it.

Satisfied with this conclusion, the Spy put the card back down and shifted his attention to the wall above the shelf. There, on an obviously custom made rack, were all the Sniper's weapons. Just as he had done with the little items on the shelf, the Spy took them down one by one to have a closer look at them. There were three rifles, and he spent most of his time studying the one the marksman had used most often so far. It was a long, heavy thing that seemed to have been put together by the Sniper himself. The BLU couldn't help but wonder if the sight might actually just be a telescope, and he wasn't sure why there needed to be a hinged cap at the end, especially since it seemed to fall back down over the end of the scope very easily. As much as he could sneer at the rough handiwork though, he couldn't deny that in the Sniper's hands, this hodgepodge weapon became lethal.

Moving on to the two bows, the Spy only spent a short time with the smaller, more worn one, amused by the way it was firmly wrapped in duct tape to keep it together. The other though, the bow he'd seen the Australian use on his first day at the base, now that was something special.  The wood was a rich, dark colour and so highly polished that it gleamed in the soft light. It was apparent that it had been well used though, from the many scuffs and scratches along its length. For a moment the Spy thought the front of it must have been especially damaged, until he realised there was an odd regularity to the marks there. He turned it towards the light and studied the intricate pattern of geometric shapes, lines and swirls etched all along the front. The bow must have cost the Sniper a fair bit, with the amount of effort someone had put into it. This one was thing the Spy couldn't sneer at; he favoured his finely engraved Ambassador and Black Rose knife after all. He just hadn't expected the Sniper to own any weapon that was more than crudely practical.

The masked man hung it back up and moved on to the knives. There were three, all kukris, or at least, kukri type weapons. The one that interested the Spy most was one he'd never seen before. It was a strange looking thing, made entirely of wood. Just like with the bow, a complicated little pattern had been etched into it. It might have been made from the same wood as well, leading the BLU to suspect they'd come from the same source. The Spy made the mistake of pressing the pad of a finger against the edge, only to flinch away a second later. He'd assumed it was a purely ornamental thing, but it turned out it was still sharp enough to cut through his gloves and skin. Handling it with more respect now, the Spy pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the tiny bloodstain he'd left on the blade. He didn't want any evidence he'd been here. Maybe he would leave some clue of his presence in the future just to unsettle the Sniper, but for now he didn't want the man to know how easy it was to break into his little sanctuary.

He put the knife back exactly how he'd found it and moved on to exploring the rest of the van. Next to him was a scuffed door leading to a tiny little space that was a poor excuse for a bathroom, with just a toilet and a fold-away sink and shower squashed into it. None looked like it was used very often. The Spy certainly couldn't blame the Sniper for that.

Shutting the door again and moving on, the masked man ran a cursory glance over the small sink and hob under the forest-facing window. There was a chipped red mug in the sink waiting to be washed and a coffee maker propped in the corner, but that was all. He opened the cupboard below the counter. One side was filled with pipes and a huge container full of water that fed the sink. The other side was sparsely populated by cutlery, plates, bowls and related items, as well as several containers of the same brand of coffee. The two top shelves were completely devoid of anything apart from a couple of tins of soup. Tomato. Out of date by two years. Nothing else. That made it clear that the Sniper had only recently turned to living in this van, and that he hadn't had an opportunity to stock it back up again. The Spy was surprised he hadn't done that today; the BLU had escaped off to the nearest town for the weekend the first chance he got when he first joined up.

Next he had a look at the front of the van. At about hip height there was the long, shallow front curtain. Along the rail the Sniper had hung little fir tree car fresheners, like a confused alien's attempts at Smissmass decorations. They explained the lemony scent the Spy had picked up on. He twitched the curtain aside to peer into the front cab, amusing himself with the image of the gangly Sniper having to fight his way through this small gap if he wanted to get from the front to the back of his van without going outside. He was even more amused when he noticed the hole cut out of the ceiling fabric just above the driver's seat. Apparently the vehicle had been built with someone shorter in mind.

As the Spy ducked back under the curtain he managed to knock a book off the little ledge between the two sections. He picked it up and glanced at the cover.  _A Wizard of Earthsea._ It looked like some pointless fantasy trash to the BLU. He placed it back with a pile of haphazardly stacked books, most of which looked like more generic science fiction and fantasy rubbish. All garish covers of alien cities, muscular men fighting mutant animals and overly-endowed woman prancing around in bikini armour. Huge fat books with minuscule text and not a meaningful or unique word among them.

Leaving behind the Sniper's poor taste in literacy, the Spy straightened up to have a look at the section above the cab. He was too short to see anything but the side of a thin mattress and looked around for the ladder up to the alcove. There wasn't one. It looked like the Australian had to step onto the seat to his left, on to the curtained ledge, and then pull himself up there without the hep of any proper steps at all. The Spy checked his shoes for dust or dirt and then stepped on to the edge of the blue seat. As soon as he put weight on to it it shifted underneath him, almost sending him crashing down on to the little square table next to it. He just managed to catch himself in time and, swearing, went to check for damage.

It turned out there wasn't any. The seat was actually a foam and upholstery covered lid that lifted off entirely to expose an extra storage compartment. It was L-shaped, with the other half of the space being underneath the section of the seat that hugged the wall along. The Spy didn't bother digging too deeply, it seemed to mostly be patched and faded clothes in there, along with a jumble of camping equipment and other bits and pieces.

He pushed the lid firmly back in to place and tested his foot on it again. This time it stayed still and he was able to pull himself up to peer over the top of the mattress. As suspected, there was nothing interesting to be seen, just a pillow and some blankets. The Spy wasn't surprised to find a knife tucked away underneath the pillow. He tried lifting up the mattress to see if the Sniper had any money, or anything more shameful hidden away under there, but the angle was too awkward and he gave up after a couple of attempts. Pity, you could learn a lot from a man's dirty magazines. Generally nothing that would be of use to the Spy on the battlefield though, unless they happened to be, say, men's fitness magazines instead of ones full of naked ladies. He knew the Sniper had at least claimed to have a girlfriend at some point, but really, that proved nothing.

That just left the table to look at. It was small and square, covered in the same fake wood linoleum as the floor. Like the floor, it also had silver duct tape around the edges to stop them from peeling away. It was held up by a single wide metal pole that looked like it was wedged in a hole sunken into the floor, rather than permanently attached it. Looking underneath the table, the pole was attached to the table by butterfly screws on a flat metal plate. He wasn't going to bother testing it, but it appeared the whole thing could be easily dismantled and tucked away.

On top of the table was a battered newspaper open on the sports section. The Spy picked it up to look at the date. It was from last Wednesday, and had most likely stolen from someone in the RED base. He went to put it back and noticed a tiny ring-bound notebook of the type waitresses would use to jot down orders, or detectives would record notes in in movies. Placing the newspaper aside, the Spy plucked up the notepad. He expected to find no more than shopping lists, or at best, maybe some embarrassingly painful attempts at poetry he could blackmail the Sniper with.

Instead he found a simple little desert landscape drawn with a blue ballpoint pen. He turned the pad sideways to get a better look at it, then flipped to the next page. The scene carried on from where it left off, and spanned across the next page as well. Again he turned to the next to find more of the landscape continuing on from where the last page left off. On and on it went. It changed subtly to start with; cacti appearing, then mountain ranges. There were little details here and there; smoke off in the distance, a lizard climbing over a rock, a little bird perched in the bows of a dead tree. Then the land dropped away and a sea began, with gulls wheeling far above the water. A pod of killer whales took up the next spread, while a tiny storm-tossed ship far off in the distance was the main focus of the following one.

The sea ended abruptly, leading on to page after page of detailed jungle. Here a snake hid among the vines, there a tiger slunk through the undergrowth. It went on and on until the trees thinned out again, turned to scrub, and then became desert once again. Flicking back to the very first page, the Spy lined up the start of the landscape with the end. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find that they matched up perfectly.

He was surprised though to find, well, all  _this_. Though the masked man never had much to do with the arts himself, he could still appreciate talent when he saw it. Grudgingly, oh so grudgingly, he found himself having to admit that the scruffy marksman had quite the gift here. The Spy honestly hadn't expected the Sniper to be better at anything than him, except perhaps, sniping. Though to his mind, that was still debatable. Just because the Spy had never given it a try didn't mean he couldn't master sniping if he wanted to.

Returning to where he left off, the BLU continued leafing through the battered little notebook. It was full of individual sketches of all kinds of things, all done in cheap looking blue or black ink. There didn't seem much that the Sniper wouldn't draw. On one page there'd be a sprawling cityscape dotted with hundreds of individually drawn windows, on the next, the head of a crocodile with each raised scale painstakingly drawn and shaded. Some drawings were just rough sketches, usually dynamic little scenes showing movement but little detail. The Spy's favourite was a stag leaping over a fallen tree, hounds snapping at its heels. There was something frantic about those loose, sweeping lines. The deer's head was little more than an antlered triangle and yet everything about the animal spoke of its panic and fear.

Though most images were of real things, people, landscapes and animals, every now and then there were strange, surreal drawings. On one page there was a bust shot of a man with a skull for half his face and smoke billowing out of his empty eye socket. The man didn't seem particularly bothered by this. In fact, the expression on his face could be most accurately described as bored.

Another image confused the Spy for a while until he turned it on its side and realised that what looked like random squiggles and lines was actually a pack of snarling wolf heads, their necks all disappearing into the same mass of scribbled black pen. He wondered what a psychiatrist would have to say about such things, and what mood the Sniper must have been in to draw it.

Though there was a great variety of things depicted, there seemed to be one subject that was returned to again and again. Or should that be, one person. The Spy didn't pick up on it at first because she was never fully drawn. On one page he'd find a pair of lips doodled in the corner with just a couple of lines to define the bottom of her nose. Few pages later there were her eyes, drawn again and again, depicting different expressions. The outline of her head, with a halo of dark, curly hair, popped up repeatedly, but there were rarely any details to her face in those ones. Whenever the Sniper came close to finishing her he'd scribble back over his work with angry lines that obliterated her face. The BLU was curious about this woman. Was she someone the Sniper loved or hated? And was his anger aimed at her, or himself?

Near the back of the notepad the Spy went past a doodle, realised what it was, and rifled back through to find it again. At a glance he'd taken it to be just another generic action shot, but looking at it again it he recognised who it was. The RED Scout, his arms raised and bandaged hands wrapped tightly around his baseball bat. He was halfway through bringing it crashing down on to an unidentifiable person's head, a vicious grin etched on to his face.

A couple of pages later the masked man found a bald eagle drawn in thick, stylised lines. It had its wings spread wide, a helmet covering up most of its face, and two rockets clutched tightly in its talons. No prizes for guessing who had inspired that one.

Then there were a number of loose little sketches picking out the most noticeable features of some of the Sniper's other team mates. The Pyro's blank lenses stared up at the Spy from one corner. The Engineer frowned at him from under his hard hat and goggles. The Medic eyed him with a look of stern disapproval from behind his round glasses.

On the next page the outline of a mask made the Spy's heart skip unexpectedly, but it was the squarer face of the RED Spy under it, not his own. He pretended not to be disappointed and distracted himself by sneering down at row of little sketches of the Medic from different angles. How amusing it would be to present the doctor with them out of context. Would it cause more trouble if he labelled them as being from a secret admirer or if he told the Medic outright that the Sniper had been drawing pictures of him? The Spy entertained himself by imagining what the stoic RED's reaction would be if he'd claimed there were more sketches where he'd found these, but the others were nudes...

He continued to leaf through the notebook until he came across another dynamic sketch, this time of a demoman charging towards the viewer, wielding a sword above his head. The BLU Demoman. He was the only one on the battle field who wielded a sword. If the Sniper had drawn a BLU, maybe he'd taken the time to draw another, more important one?

Two pages later the Spy found what he'd been looking for. He almost missed it, until he spotted the vague lines of a familiar mask. It was another of the the marksman's animal drawings. A fox. It stared out of the page directly at the viewer, with cold, cat-like eyes. There was a rabbit hanging limply from its jaws and blood all around its muzzle. Though he knew foxes had markings that were often referred to as its 'mask' anyway, there was no doubt in the Spy's mind that the detail on this one's fur was meant to mimic a balaclava. It could have been the RED Spy of course, but he didn't think so.

The next sketch was definitely of him. It was from the waist up, half of it drawn normally, the other half of the page laboriously coloured in black pen with just key areas left white. The result was striking and harsh and gave the impression that he was standing in deep shadow. There was a cruel smile on his thin lips, and a cigarette held tightly between them. Smoke billowed away from him on the white side, while he clutched a knife dripping blood on the other.

The thing that really struck the Spy as he flicked between the two images, was how long they must have taken. These weren't vague outlines or rough lines, both were carefully drawn and detailed. He imaged the Sniper must hate and, hopefully, fear him by now. The Frenchman would have expected any images of him to have been drawn in anger, with harsh lines and sketchy edges. Though being drawn as a fox possibly wasn't the most flattering of things, it could have been far far worse. If you'd told the Spy in advance that he'd find pictures of himself in this notebook, he would have expected to find doodles of himself being beheaded or stabbed or possibly even pissed on. But instead he found depictions of himself looking... there was a word for it. He leafed between the two again, his brow furrowed.

_Predatory._

That was it. He looked dangerous and cold and cruel, but above all he looked like a predator.

The Spy was tempted to rip out the pages to keep for himself, but that would risk giving away that he'd been in the van. Instead, the masked man forced himself to move on. There were only a couple more sketches in the book, including an almost complete one of the woman from earlier. The last handful of pages were blank, but it wouldn't be long until the Sniper had filled the entire thing.

The Spy placed the notepad back down exactly where he found it, and moved the tatty newspaper over it again. He gave the small room one final look-over and cloaked. He'd seen everything there was left to see here, time to return to the BLU base and mull over his findings. The Sniper had left him with a lot more to think about than expected.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spy, I can forgive you for many things, but dissing Ursula Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea is not one of them.  
> I think originally pegged this at a 50k fic. Ahahaha. I was wrong. Not a chance. It's almost 40k now (over that on ff now because it includes ANs in the total) and I'm only a third of the way through the plot. Plus there's a whole load of back story and little extra scenes I've made a note of but not found a place to fit in yet, which includes some pretty important stuff for the plot. I'll try and be more concise and get things moving along quicker, but considering how everything just ends up requiring more words than I expected, I'm not sure how much luck I'm going to have with that.  
> I've also got plans for a sequel, another long fic and a whole army of one shots but who knows if I'm ever going to get the chance to write them at this rate.  
> I still haven't managed to come up with a name to change this fic to. 'Breaking Point' sounded suitable but it turns out there's already at least two TF2 fics with that name...  
> So I'm still open to suggestions!  I have had one so far. However, while '360TrickstabsoftehSpycrabber' certainly has its merits, I don't think it quite suits this particular story.
> 
> The sentiment behind each object the Spy finds of the Sniper's shelf isn't really something that's especially important to the plot, so I wasn't planning on explaining them, but since I wrote myself a note to remind myself about them, I thought I might as well post that here in the AN. So, in case anybody's interested here's an expanded version of my list-  
> Coins- His father collected old and rare coins as a hobby. Sniper ends up absent-mindedly keeping any especially shiny or interesting coins he comes across because of this. Did so a lot as a child, though he never found anything special. Did it to try and impress/bond with his father. Sometimes is father would play along, other times get annoyed at his son for using pointless things to try and get his attention.  
> Assorted teeth- mostly from large animals he's killed himself, usually predators. Couple of human teeth- from a bar fight he won (American, not Australian.)  
> Bangles- Belonged to his late girlfriend. Just about the only thing of hers that he owns. She loved wearing bits of jewellery and the colour gold.  
> Arrow shaped flint- Given to him by his father when he was younger once he started to show an interest in archery. His father told him it was an ancient arrowhead shaped by a caveman. As he got older the Sniper began to suspect it was just an interestingly shaped rock, but he kept it as his dad didn't give him things very often, and even if it was just something picked off the ground, it showed that his father had thought of him when he found it.  
> Bird Skull-From a Magpie. Found it about five years ago. Cleaned it up and kept it because he used to collect bones and such when he was a kid (along with the coins, teeth and any interesting looking rocks he found), and because his mum used to call him 'her little magpie', thanks to this habit of his.  
> Ring- Grandmother's. Gave to him when he was young because she didn't wear it any more thanks to the missing emerald. Sniper never wore it either because it's too girly for him. Has a lot of sentimental value due to how close he was to his grandmother. (Tough as old nails Englishwoman and total badass. Loved lil' Sniper unconditionally and was the only person who understood that just because he was different from other children, it didn't mean he was broken.)  
> Opal and Australium- stolen from the site of his first contract kill- jeweller who was ripping the wrong people off. Never taken anything from other sniping jobs because he watched a documentary shortly after about serial killers that mentioned they often take trophies. Wants to see himself as a professional, not a murderer. Meant to flog the items but felt paranoid someone would somehow connect him to that first job, so ended up keeping them instead. (Yes, the Spy was actually right, he did once brush the australium against his top lip in the vain hope it'd help him grow a decent moustache. It didn't work. He also considered swallowing it to see if that'd do anything but wisely decided not to in the end.)  
> Christmas (well, Smissmas) card- last bit of positive correspondence the Sniper had with his parents before he was arrested. Had a couple of phones calls after but that's it.


	16. Sushi and Spies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. Sorry it's been such a long time since my last update; I've been busy with real life stuff and other fics. But I'm back now and there shouldn't be as long a break between this one and the next as I'm getting back into my old routine of writing 500+ words a day.  
> A quick reminder (because honestly, I keep forgetting myself), the RED Demoman is English, not Scottish.  
> This chapter is mostly teeth-rottingly fluffy stuff and team bonding. You have been warned.

_The Spy opened the door and called to them that dinner was ready._

_The Scout immediately tossed his cue aside with a cry of, 'finally!' and dashed out of the room. The other three approached the door to the kitchen at a more sensible pace. Before they could reach it, the Scouts loud voice echoes out of the room._

_'What the fuck is this?'_

 

'Sushi!' the Spy announced proudly, hands on hips and a rare grin on his face.

'Urgh. What, raw fish and rice?' the Scout asked, sounding disgusted.

Behind him the Soldier and Sniper were studying the array of food spread out along the table with identical expressions of suspicion and distrust.

The Spy's smile faltered slightly at the less than enthusiastic attitudes of his three team mates. 'Well, rice, yes. But only the salmon hosomaki has raw fish in it. None of the rest do.'

Then the Demoman pushed his way into the room after staying behind to put the pool cues away properly. 'Sushi? Did someone say sushi?' he spotted the food on the table and his expression changed to one of pure joy. 'Sushi! Spy, you absolute legend!

To the Spy's great surprise he found himself caught up in a firm one-armed hug.

'I bloody love sushi!'

'Ah, good to know,' the Spy replied, making a show of straightening out his jacket as the Demoman let go of him, his face returning to a wide smile. 'I haven't made any in a long time, so it might not be up to scratch,' he admitted, 'and I wasn't able to get hold of all the ingredients I wanted. Squid is so hard to come by around here.'

Demoman shook his head slightly as he studied the table, either in disbelief at his good luck, or to dispel the Spy's worries. 'I'm sure it's gonna be just great, mate. How long did all this take, anyway?'

'Oh, hours!' the Spy replied, obviously glad someone had asked. He started to explain how much effort had gone into everything while the Sniper prowled closer to the table to get a better look. He'd never tried sushi in his life and had never had any interest in doing so, but he couldn't think of any way of escaping the room without the Spy spotting.

'Spy, I do not approve of foreign food, I only eat good, healthy American things!' Soldier announced.

'That's why I made extra California rolls' the masked man replied smoothly, 'they are one hundred percent American, you know.' This seemed to mollify the Soldier entirely. Behind him the Demoman grinned and he and Spy shared a conspiratorial look.

'It's already dead, you know,' a voice said from the opposite side of the room. The Medic had just entered via the main doors and was looking at the Sniper with amusement. The Sniper looked at him with confusion until the doctor added, 'So it's not going to bite you, Sniper.'

'Oh, well, yeah. Just, don't think I've ever seen, you know, real sushi before.'

The Medic came over to peer through his round glasses at the food on offer. 'Well this is certainly an... interesting choice, Spy.'

'I just thought I'd try something a bit different.'

'Trying to culture us again, Spy? I told you before, you're wasting your time.' This was from the Engineer as he entered the room. His ever-present goggles made it hard to read his expression.

Despite the gasmask, Pyro's reaction was easier to gauge. She/he/they stared at the table from the doorway for a moment, then waddled closer to inspect it. Once they'd worked out what exactly was on offer, they clapped their gloved hands together enthusiastically.

Finally, the Heavy arrived, with Scout just behind him. The Sniper hadn't even noticed the young man leave the room. He guessed it was just easier to spot when something loud and obnoxious was there than when it wasn't. It also explained how the other three mercs had known dinner was ready.

The Heavy frowned down at the table, but the only thing he said was, 'Oh yes, sushi. Very famous French food.'

'Well if we all stuck to the stereotypes of our countries, nobody else would ever eat what we cooked!' the Spy argued.

'Dunno man, think I would have preferred the snails and the frog legs,' the Scout muttered under his breath.

The Spy shook his head in exasperation while one by one everybody took a seat. 'You know, sometimes I don't know why I bother.'

The Scout snorted, and told him to 'man up,' while Demoman assured him, 'If no one else wants it, you and me can have it all and these ungrateful buggers can just starve.'

'What are these sticks?' the Soldier demanded.

'They're chopsticks,' the Spy informed him. 'You use them instead of knives and forks when eating sushi.'

There was much fumbling around the table as seven professional mercenaries tried to work out how to hold a couple of pieces of wood.

'No, like this!' the Spy said irritably, neatly clicking his chopsticks together to demonstrate how it should be done as the Scout's fell from his hand for a third time.

The Sniper just stared from the Spy's hands to his own in helpless confusion. Across the table, the Demoman was helping out an irate Engineer. The Texan had 11PhDs and very little patience for anything new in life that left him feeling stupid.

There was a sharp crack and the Sniper looked up to see the Heavy dump his chopsticks down on the table, broken clean in two. He folded his arms across his chest and grumbled, 'I do not like this little tea party. Little men can eat with twigs. I will not.'

'It's also perfectly fine to use your fingers to eat sushi,' the Spy admitted next to him, looking a little ruffled.

'Oh thank god!' the Scout cried, slamming his down and reaching for the nearest plate. 'What the fuck are all the orange bubble things on this one?'

'That's fish roe, Scout.'

'And what the fuck is that?'

'Is fish eggs, little man,' the Heavy chimed in, 'Pass them over.'

'Bleh! Fish eggs? Gross!'

'Is not gross, is delicious. We have it in Russia on special occasions. Weddings and such. Is very good.'

'You're welcome to them,' the Scout told him, handing the plate across the table.

The Sniper, who was still doggedly fighting a losing battle with his chopsticks asked, 'Fish eggs? What, like caviar?'

'Yes, like caviar,' the Spy replied, helping himself to a couple of pieces. 'Though only eggs from sturgeon are classed as caviar. These are from salmon. Try one.'

Looking doubtful, Sniper gave up on his chopsticks and picked one of the little oval, seaweed-wrapped packages from the proffered plate. The Sniper dumped it down on his own plate and prodded at the orange mass on top. It wobbled slightly.

Across the table, Demoman started talking. 'You know, I lived in Japan for a couple of years as part of an apprenticeship in explosives and demolitions. Everyone in my family does it.

Now the Japanese, they really know how to get a job done efficiently. You could have a crater of a pothole in England and the most the local council would do is come and spray-paint a circle around it, after two or three years of complaints. While I was in Japan an earthquake wrecked a bridge entirely and they had it up and usable again within the week. Now that's really something.'

'It can't have been as good as proper American workmanship though!' the Soldier argued.

'Of course not, Sol,' the Demoman assured him blithely, before continuing on.

'Now, if you think I get some weird looks around here for being a one-eyed black Englishman, you have no idea much I confused some people in Japan. Course, they're generally good over there at pretending not to notice that I stick out like a sore thumb, but us Brits are too, so I could tell what they were really thinking. But if anyone asked too many questions or got too uppity with me, Bomb-sensei would sort them out. Terrifying woman. About four-foot tall and full of rage. She reminded me of my Mum really, just a bit more Asian.'

While the others were listening to the Demoman's story and gingerly sampling what was on offer, the Sniper put one single squishy orange fish egg in his mouth. He pressed it between his teeth until it popped. A strange, only mildly fishy taste spread across his tongue. To his surprise, it really wasn't all that bad. A bit too sweet maybe, but this was coming from a man who preferred his vegetables plain boiled and his meat self-caught and roasted until charred.

The Sniper tried another. And another. And then several at once. It was surprisingly satisfying to pop each one beneath his teeth. Eventually there was nothing left but the seaweed shell and rice bottom, so he tried those as well. He came to the same verdict as he had done with the roe; too sweet but surprisingly all right for weird foreign food.

Next to him the Medic was using his chopsticks to dissect each piece of sushi on his plate with intense concentration, separating them up into piles of similar component parts. To the Sniper, it made him look less like a trained surgeon and more like a fussy child trying to get out of eating their greens. If he even was a trained surgeon, that is.

The Sniper snagged a couple more of the gunkan-maki. For some reason they didn't seem all that popular with the rest of the team, Heavy excluded. The marksman couldn't say he was too upset about that.

'Having fun there, Sniper?' the Spy asked after a minute.

The Sniper popped another fish egg between his tongue and front teeth and looked up at the masked man. He was smiling, and as the Australian gave an embarrassed little nod back he realised just how _human_ the man looked. He might wear the same uniform as the BLU Spy, do the same job, and share a few uncannily similar mannerisms, but the RED almost felt like a real person first, and a Spy second. The Sniper certainly couldn't imagine the enemy Spy going out of his way to cook his team mates a special dinner. Beneath those masks the two of them looked very different too. The BLU was all sharp angles and ice-cold eyes. The RED's face was much squarer and more tanned and there was a slightly tired look to him that spoke of too much work and not enough sleep.

The Demoman was in full swing with another story about his time in Japan, waving his chopsticks around in the air as he spoke. 'And when I say it was the best I've ever tasted, God do I mean it. But the pieces were so small! I was a young man, course I wanted more than one! Or two, or three. And of course, they all knew, but they were either too polite to tell me about the mistake I was making, or too keen to see a foreigner make an arse of himself! So when I got the bill, mates I can tell yah, I nearly had a heart attack! I'd never seen so many zeros before in my life. And I said, “this can't be right! All I had was a couple of beers, some vegetable rice and four measly pissing bits of beef!” 'Cept it wasn't wrong. Turns out it was some super-fucking-expensive beef. Apparently the cows were super small but fed beer everyday and massaged every morning and played classical music all night and somehow that ends up leading to some bloody beautiful but damn pricey meat! So there were all the guys I'd gone out with, looking like they were all about to ditch me and leave me at the mercy of the angry little man who ran the place when I start pulling out wads and wads of cash. See, since I hadn't had time to do anything with the money I'd got from that contract the night before, I'd still got it on me. So this restaurant owner goes from looking like he was about to call the police on me to thinking he was dealing with some kind of mafia boss or foreign prince or something! Ah, it was a beautiful moment...

'Hmmm. Wish I could remember what that beef was called now...'

'Kobe,' the Spy said, but nobody seemed to be paying him much attention now there was (admittedly odd) food to be eaten, and Demoman's stories about Japan to listen to. He sighed to himself and shrugged.

Sniper, who had noticed he was likely to go to bed hungry if he didn't dive in and grab some more sushi for himself, was busy piling up his plate. It appeared he'd been the only one who'd heard the Spy say anything. The masked man had gone to all this trouble and now it was the Demoman taking centre stage.

'So, uh, how do I use these chopstick things again, Spy?'

Spy seemed to brighten up immediately at having someone to pass on his great knowledge and wisdom on to. It took several attempts and some muttered curses, but eventually Sniper managed to get a proper hold of them. He opened and closed them experimentally in his hand, the action feeling awkward and unfamiliar. Picking up anything with them proved to be a challenge, or at least, keeping hold of things long enough to reach his mouth.

Up until then the Scout had been having a competition with Heavy over who could fit a whole rice ball into their mouths at once and swallow it the quickest. Noticing the Sniper's struggles, he gave one final gulp and said, 'Wow man, you're shit at that!' Wanting to prove that anything Sniper could do, he could do better, the Scout picked up one chopstick in either hand and attempted to corner a small sushi roll that kept on escaping from him. Eventually he got hold of it and carefully tried to manoeuvre it to his mouth. A moment before it reached its goal, the roll slipped from the chopsticks and fell on his lap.

Next to him, the Sniper managed to pop a piece neatly into his mouth while Heavy and Soldier laughed. The Scout scowled and dumped the chopsticks back down again, muttering, 'Stupid things. Must be something wrong with them.'

Despite all the initial complaints, by the end of the meal every plate was clean, even the ones that had originally contained the raw salmon and fish roe sushi. At some point in time Medic had stopped pulling his dinner apart piece by piece and actually eaten it, and despite no one having noticed them lift their mask up at any point, Pyro was patting their stomach contentedly.

'So,' Spy said, lighting a cigarette, 'I trust that my efforts were not in vain after all?' Medic nodded primly. Heavy folded his arms and said 'Dah. Spasibo .' Pyro gave him a thumbs up. Scout reluctantly admitted, 'It could have been worse.' Engineer gave a grunt that could have meant anything. Soldier simply said, 'I liked those Californians.' Demoman cried, 'Yes! You've got to show me how you do it next time.' Finally, Sniper nodded and said, 'Yeah. I liked it.'

After that, he made a break for it before anybody dragged him back to do the washing-up. Because Sniper and Heavy were new, they'd been let off diner duties for the first couple of weeks. To make up for that though, both had been roped in to clean up the dishes afterwards most of that week. Sniper was feeling drained by the rowdy company and just wanted some time to himself to recover. That said, the diner really hadn't been all that bad, food or company wise. No one had said anything about his eyes or made any confusing comments that could have as easily been completely harmless as cruel. No one had done anything to remind him he was new, or to make him feel like he didn't belong there. Knowing him, it'd probably be the full ten years before he finally started to feel part of the team, but it was a start.

At some point during the meal he'd started thinking of them less like strangers with class titles and more like people whose names happened to be defined by their jobs. Less 'the Spy', 'the Soldier, 'The Demoman', and more 'Spy', Soldier' and 'Demoman.'

Sniper smiled to himself ever so slightly as he walked back to his camper. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could become part of a team for the first time in his life. And maybe, just possibly, he could make some actual _friends._

 

Out of sight and out of mind, the BLU Spy watched him. There was a slight spring in the Sniper's step that he hadn't seen there before. It looked like he'd had a good evening. So had the Spy. He's spent so long snooping around the Sniper's van that's he'd only made it out a couple of minutes before the marksman returned.

As he set off back for his base, the Spy went over what he'd learnt. His foe was known (to his mother at least) as 'Nat'. He liked collecting odd items and trinkets of various kinds. Despite being a Sniper, he took good care of his weapons and home. It looked as though he wasn't in touch with his parents anymore, or possibly, that they were dead. He had an unexpected talent for drawing. There was a woman who was very important to him, or had been at some point in time. He really needed to get around to stocking up on food. That strange smoky smell that clung to him was from incense of some kind. And he enjoyed reading fantasy and science fiction books, apparently. Those were the basics.

Though of course, there was also the fact that the Spy now knew that he lived in a little van away from the main base, with only a single flimsy and easily picked lock between him and the world. The Spy would be paying the Sniper's home some more visits in the future, there was no doubt about that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* RED Spy is team mother, pass it on. Just don't let him know I was the one who told you that.  
> You have no idea how relieved I am to have got to the point where I can start easing up on using 'the' quite so often. I use it to denote distance between characters and now Sniper's starting to get a little more used to his team, I wont be including it nearly as often when the story's following him. It'll pop up more when the BLU Spy's taking centre stage though because he's not close to anyone, and it'll probably always be used when someone is interacting with or thinking about a member of the opposite team.
> 
> Also, there's something I was wondering if anyone could help me out with? I know most of the bases are in New Mexico, but I have no idea if Double-Cross could be there too. It kind of looks a bit too much of a cool, temperate map for that but really don't know. So does anyone have any suggestions for what state it would be plausible for this particular base to be in? Even a 'well it could be in my state, ____, I guess' would do because it doesn't really matter a huge amount. It's just that the only part of America I've ever been to is New York city, so I have no idea where to start with this. I need to pick a state for some of next chapter's content, you see.


	17. If You Go Down to the Woods Today...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with Colorado. This is the bit where anyone who's ever lived there tells me I'm doing it wrong. I'm sorry ;.; I'm trying.  
> But no, really, if you see me really mess something up (like a giraffe randomly appears in the middle of the state or something) do tell me.
> 
> This chapter has some art at the moment that I commissioned from the wonderful [Bearibee](http://bearibee.tumblr.com/). I've also added the piece by her that's the front cover of this fic on ff.net to the first chapter. And on top of that, there's now a wonderful scene drawn by the incredibly talented [ Nastylady](http://nastylady.tumblr.com/) near the end of chapter 13. I really hope I'll be able to get more art for it in the future too. I also need to get around to getting an 8tracks account so I can upload the Sniper and Foe Yay playlists I've put together. Turn this fic in to a right old multi-media extravaganza, that will.
> 
> Lastly, an extra special shout-out has to go to my new beta reader. Who also happens to be my boyfriend. How he can put up with me, let alone this fic, I do not know. Brave man. Brave man indeed. And a great proof reader too!

It was amazing how much of a difference one day off from getting murdered and a good night's sleep could do. Sniper woke up feeling faintly happy for some reason. Well, maybe not quite _happy_. More like there wasn't the heavy weight of dread crouching in his ribcage like it had done every morning he'd woken up while on Death Row.

Then Sniper remembered that he was actually going to die a fair few times the very next day, and that little monster, dread, looked at him hopefully. He shoved it away and climbed down off of the little alcove he slept in above the van's cab.

Sniper yawned and stretched. Today he was going to get some more useful things done. Still half asleep, he scratched at the stubble on his chin. The harsh _scritch scritch scritch_ sound made him decide that getting a shave better be at the top of his list.

He ran his hands through his scruffy hair too, thinking. It was an all right length now but it was going to need a cut soon. The problem was, he wouldn't be allowed off base for another two months and three weeks. Sniper was either going to have to ask one of his team mates to buy him some ties so he could put his hair up in pretty bunches by the end of that time, or he was going to have a hack at it himself. The third option, that he could try asking one of his team mates to trim it for him, appealed even less than the other two.

An hour later, Sniper was showered, changed, shaved, breakfasted, coffee-ed and picking up his favourite bow. He turned it over in his hands, checking for damage. Monday had been the first time he'd used it in years, and though he'd been careful with the bow, he was still worried he might have done something to it. It seemed fine though, and a quick check of the string showed no excessive wear and tear. When he dragged his quiver out from the compartment underneath the seating, he found more arrows than he'd originally thought he had, and set the ones with ruffled feathers aside to sort out later.

Over the other side of the yard from where he'd parked his van up, there was a short path that led to a firing range. While exploring a dilapidated old shed alongside it a couple of days before, Sniper had found some archery targets. They were rather the worse for wear, with damp, mouldy looking stuffing leaking out of a number of tears. One even looked like someone had taken a knife to it at some point, using as a way to vent their anger rather than as simple target practice.

One by one, Sniper dragged them out into the open, shaking off years of collected dust and spiders. He set them up near the end of the range and returned to where he'd left the bow. It was harder than he remembered to string it, but Sniper wasn't sure if it was he who was out of practice, or the bow. Most likely both. He gave it some careful pulls to first a third, and then a half of its maximum reach to warm it up and check the tension.

Once he was sure the bow was up to the task, he checked his stance, nocked an arrow and drew back the bow. That too took more effort than it once would have done. He'd gone soft in prison. Well, in some ways. In others he'd toughened up.

Sniper released the arrow. It hit the outer ring of the centre target with a _thunk_. He shook his head in disappointment. It appeared he was rusty all round. It had been a mistake on his part to try using a bow and arrow on his first day of work. When he thought about it, it had probably had something to do with wanting to show off. But apart from a couple of nice shots, all he'd done was annoy himself with his own lack of skill.

Determined to bring himself back up to his old skill level, Sniper nocked and let fly another arrow. And another. And another. Two hit the target but one went wide and disappeared among the over-gown grass of the unkempt shooting range. Never mind. He'd search for it later.

He continued firing until his quiver was empty and the centre target looked as though it was doing an impression of a porcupine. One arrow had hit the target dead-centre and two others were close. That wasn't good enough.

Sniper went to retrieve them all, totally oblivious to the man standing invisibly amongst the trees behind him, smoking. Several cigarette butts littered the forest floor carelessly. It was a pity that the Spy had gone to the effort of grinding out each one; if he'd accidentally set himself on fire, Sniper might have noticed him.

The BLU Spy was annoyed. That was the reason why he'd gone through so many cigarettes in such a short time, and why he was glaring at the Sniper. Really, he had so many more important things to do than watch the RED. Useful, productive things, like snooping around the new Heavy's room, or finding a way to secretly bother one of the Medics. But no, he was standing here on the edge of the forest, smoking like a chimney stack. All because the enemy Sniper was practising his archery skills. If he'd been doing something a little less distracting, the Spy could have left him alone and gone on to something else. But no, he had to be using that strange weapon of his again and there just had to be something so hypnotising about it. Maybe it was the way the Sniper performed the same sleek movement again and again. Or the even, repetitive 'thock...thock...thock,' of the arrows hitting the target. Or maybe it was down to how amusingly satisfying it was when the Sniper missed entirely and then shook his head sadly to himself.

As the Spy watched though, the Sniper's aim gradually started to improve. Fewer and fewer arrows went off target entirely and more and more clustered in near the bullseye. Every time the RED had spent all his ammunition, he'd go and collect everything back up and start all over again. Soon he moved on to trying to shoot all three targets from where he was standing, and after that he practised moving and firing at the same time.

It went on for so long that the Spy found his mind wandering, though for some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave quite yet. He ended up thinking back to the Sniper's sketchbook and found himself trying to come up with ways to inspire the marksman to draw him again. Maybe he should give the man a really gruesome death that would stick in his mind for a long time after that. The Spy had so many good ideas for that that he wasn't even sure where he'd start. And of course, he'd have to make sure that he struck some kind of really elegant or powerful pose as the Sniper died, just so that it'd be the last thing he saw just before respawn claimed him. Oh, he could have some real fun with this idea. Even if it didn't work, it'd still be very satisfying.

The Spy noticed that the Sniper was starting to slow down now, and that his aim was beginning to get a little poorer again. After firing his final arrow (which hit the edge of the target on the right), he collected them all back up again and leant the bow and quiver against the wall of the old shed. Now that the bow was closer to him, the Spy could just make out some of the complicated pattern that decorated the front of it. His mind made a connection that it hadn't earlier. He'd been assuming that the Sniper had bought the bow and wooden shiv as they were. But having seen his notebook and the little shapes doodled in the corners of it, it occurred to him that it was probably a great deal of time that the Sniper had spent on them both, not money. And woodwork was just the kind of thing his type would do, wasn't it?

It's just that art in general really wasn't. The Spy hadn't got used to that yet. It was really something you would have expected of someone from New Zealand, back when it existed, rather than from an Australian. Maybe one of the marksman's relatives had been from the country? It seemed unlikely though; from what the Spy knew of the place, the people had rarely ventured over to their neighbouring continent. While Australia kept to itself because it didn't want to have to bother dealing with people trying to steal its tech, New Zealand had kept to itself to try and avoid Australia's attention. It had been the nerdy little kid trying not to be spotted in the middle of a group of football players. But now it was gone, sunk beneath the waves like a modern day Atlantis.

Overall, it was very unlikely that the Sniper was in any way connected to New Zealand. Australia was a big country, it was bound to house a few freaks among them. Just that to them it was the sensitive artist types who qualified, not those with extra toes or webbing between their fingers.

 

Sniper lugged the three targets back over to the shed and wrestled them in amongst all the other junk that he'd disturbed in getting them out. Two javelins toppled over on top of him and a soggy box of old cartridges went skittering across the floor. It took some effort, and a good amount of swearing, before everything was back pretty much where it belonged.

Sniper swung the door shut behind him and swiped cobwebs off his shoulder. He flexed his fingers, irritated at how sore they felt, and then glanced down at them. Ah. Maybe he'd overdone the archery a little. It was clear that he was going to have some impressive blisters soon. He had two options. Either he could just leave them, or he could go slap them on the DSS Dispenser.

DSS stood for 'Done Something Stupid.' Apparently, after years of being sought after because of minor and embarrassing injuries, Medic had finally got fed-up and told the rest of the team they could just deal with it themselves. Being an adept solver of practical problems, the Engineer had set up a permanent dispenser down one corridor with a piece of paper taped to the wall above it that read, 'Just in case you've done something stupid.'

It was a godsend. Now Medic could spend his weekends safe in the knowledge that no one would be running to him with paper cuts, splinters and caved in heads, and the rest of the mercs could avoid Medic's awkward questions about how they'd managed to get their head trapped in a bucket _again_ or where exactly the painful rash had come up this time. As long as the Engineer kept it topped up and in full working order, the DSS Dispenser solved everything.

Except, Sniper had better stay away from it. Not because he feared it wouldn't work, but because it'd work too well. If Sniper was ever going to be able to use his bow effectively on the battlefield, he'd need to toughen his hands up. Running off to the dispenser would get rid of the blisters, sure, but it'd return return his hands back to how they'd been before. Then he'd be back at square one. Frowning to himself, Sniper rubbed his fingers together. He was just going to have to put up with blisters the normal way.

That decided, he collected up his bow and quiver and made to walk back to his van. Then he stopped, and thought. He really should get on with that list of jobs that needed doing that he'd drawn up. He really should. But it was a warm spring day and a gentle breeze swept through the trees that boarded the shooting range on three sides. The forest looked so inviting. Sniper itched to go exploring. He shouldn't. He wasn't allowed. No going off base for the first three months, that's what the contract had said.

Fuck that.

Sniper had been locked up for three years. He deserved a bit of freedom. And what his bosses didn't know couldn't hurt them.

He turned around and headed for the forest. He didn't notice a faint wisp of smoke start to follow him.

Anxiety and worry seemed to fall away from Sniper with every step he took away from the base and into the forest. He paused beneath a towering Douglas fir and took in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of loam, pine and sap. He let out a sigh, and with it went the last of the tension left in his body. It was replaced with a calm kind of contentment that nestled in his diaphragm. It felt odd. He was so used to being on-edge all the time that he found himself feeling almost overwhelmed by the unexpected serenity that settled over his shoulders like a cosy blanket.

For a time he just stood and watched a little flock of Pine Siskins twittering amongst themselves in a lodgepole fir. Off in the distance a male mourning dove gave a smoothing 'hoo-woohoohoohoo' coo, and another joined in. Beyond that the rest of the forest was full of the distant songs of a dozen other species of birds.

The thick canopy of coniferous trees above kept there from being too much underbrush, and years of pine needles falling on the ground had left it soft and springy. Sniper was able to move through the forest with barely a sound, free to enjoy the wildlife around him without disturbing it too much.

There was the crack of a breaking branch behind him, and the sound of clattering wings as a startled bird took flight. Sniper peered around curiously, wondering what might have disturbed it. He knew there could possibly be bears or mountain lions in the area, but they were unlikely to approach him. And even if they did, he had his bow and arrow to hand, and respawn to fall back on.

There was no sign of any mammals about, beyond a small mouse that went skittering away from him when he got too close. Immediately forgetting all about the snapped twig, Sniper continued exploring. The ground started to rise as he clambered over grey boulders covered in lichen. He didn't do it because there was no other way around them, but just for the fun of it. He'd loved climbing as a child. Sniper's dad had always joked that there must be some monkey in him, from the way he'd scale trees so fast, or some mountain goat, because of the way he could never resist climbing over rock formations.

The hill dipped back down into a sun-dappled valley hidden among the trees. There was a tiny, nagging thought at the back of Snipers mind telling him he should head back now. But why? Why should he head back? It was still morning, he had plenty of time to get on with things. And it wasn't like he was about to get lost; he'd developed an excellent sense of direction. And there wasn't anything out here that could hurt him. He was used to being out in the wilderness by himself. He'd got into fights with crocodiles before, and fractured his ankle miles away from civilisation. A little stroll in the woods wasn't about to bother him.

He spotted a lip of rock where the ground seemed to fall away beyond it and decided he could allow himself just a little bit more time exploring over there before he began to meander back.

 

The Spy had been certain the Sniper would spot him when the twig had snapped beneath his shoes. If he'd cloaked just a second later, it would have been game over.

He still wasn't entirely sure why he'd followed the Australian off into the wilderness. He hated the great outdoors. Pine needles kept getting into his shoes and poking through his socks and he was sure that with all these birds in the trees above, one was bound to shit on him. Plus, America had all kinds of dangerous animals, didn't it? Wolves and stuff. He'd never forgive him if the Sniper got him eaten by something.

It was almost worth it though, to be able to watch the Sniper wander around peacefully in his natural habitat. Bushmen weren't supposed to be kept cooped up indoors, they should be wild and free. And this particular one certainly seemed to be enjoying his freedom. The Spy wished he could risk getting a bit closer, but even from here he could tell that the marksman was feeling relaxed and at home in his environment.

The Spy had to bite back a string of swearwords as his foot slipped out from underneath him and almost sent him rolling down the hill. He really didn't think the Sniper would be very pleased to see the Frenchman if he went crashing straight into him. Then again, he wouldn't be very pleased to see him right now, regardless of what lead to it. Especially right now as he seemed to be... stripping?

No, that couldn't be right.

The Sniper disappeared among the trees, but he was definitely unbuttoning his shirt as he moved. Confused, and rather curious, the Spy made his careful way down the embankment. As he grew closer, the sound of rushing water reached his ears. He had to move in stops and starts, using his cloak and dagger to keep himself hidden. He was far too close now to be able to risk decloaking.

It turned out that the Sniper really did seem intent on taking all of his clothes off. His bow and quiver had been left on a flat rock a few paces off to the left, and his aviators, hat, shirt and trousers were in a neat little pile next to him. He was sat on a stone ledge, facing away from the Spy, and leaning down to pull his socks off. As the Frenchman slunk closer he noticed that the Sniper was humming to himself. It was a tuneless little noise, but one that spoke of blithe contentment.

The Spy was annoyed with himself for stepping behind a tree as he moved closer. Because of that he missed the Sniper taking off his underwear.

There was a splash, and the Spy peeked around the side of the pine tree to see the top of the marksman's head disappear as he swam out of sight beneath the ledge.

The Spy wished he'd thought to bring a camera. The Sniper was _skinny dipping_ and he had no way of collecting evidence of it for future blackmail purposes. It was heartbreaking.

All the same, he was going to aim for a better look. He stalked closer, taking a curving, round-about route that would bring him around to the other side of the ledge the Sniper had sat on. He glimpsed the Australian's dark hair and broad shoulders a moment before he disappeared from sight. The Spy cursed quietly. The sharpshooter had gone the opposite way to the one he'd predicted. No matter. He just needed to wait a few moments to let his cloak recharge, then he could make his way back around the rock ledge and spy on the man from the other side. Which was something he needed to do. For professional reasons. Perfectly professional reasons. Of course.

Getting this close to the water had its benefits, even if he'd gone the wrong way. From the faint tendrils of steam escaping into the air, it was clear that the Sniper had managed to find some kind of natural hot spring. No wonder he'd been so keen to get his clothes off. The Spy had been assuming he was just the kind of idiot who was happy to throw himself into freezing cold water because that was probably just what Australians did. But now, even the Spy was tempted to have a dip. But some other time. When he had swimming trunks with him. And there wasn't a voyeuristic Spy watching the water.

He'd just sneaked past the little pile of clothes the Sniper had left behind when an idea occurred to him. A wonderful idea. A glorious idea. A masterpiece of a plan.

The Spy stopped. An unpleasant smirk spread slowly across his face. Now wouldn't it be funny. Oh so very funny. If those clothes were to just _disappear._ Imagine it. Sniper having to walk back through the forest and to his base completely starkers. Maybe he could just leave the man his hat. No, wait, the Spy wasn't that nice of a guy. He was going to take everything, even his hat and glasses.

Quickly, he placed the shoes and aviators on top of the neatly folded pile of clothes, and scooped them all up. The hat went on his own head, placed at a jaunty angle. He'd dump everything somewhere out of sight but nearby, because there was something a little weird about carrying another man's underwear around.

He was just about to congratulate himself on a job well done when something came out of the trees right in front of him.

The Spy screamed. No, yelled. Definitely yelled. He was a man; he didn't scream. And even _if_ he had done, it would have been completely justifiable because there was a god damn fucking _bear_ right there and it probably wanted to _eat_ him.

There was a splashing sound behind him and a confused mutter of 'What the hell?'

The Spy's cloak decided that that very moment was the right one to run out.

' _What the hell_?' This time the Sniper sounded a lot less confused and a lot more angry.

The bear made a surprised huffing noise and shifted its front paws, which might also have been 'What the hell?' in bear language.

The BLU froze, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or in this case, an angry, soggy Sniper and a perplexed black bear. Since his watch was a cloak and dagger one, this would have been a strategically sound move if it wasn't for the red shirt now clutched tightly to his chest out of alarm. Contact with it made his cloaking device waver and spit out blue sparks.

It was the Spy's turn to say, 'What the hell?' now, as he had no idea what was causing it.

The bear peered at him with its small round eyes and opened its jaw. It only did so to expose the Jacobson's organ at the roof of its mouth to the air, to help it draw in the Frenchman's strange scent. However, to the Spy it looked like a threat. Its long, yellowing fangs might have had something to do with it.

'Oi!' the Sniper shouted indignantly, 'Give me back my hat!'

The BLU was so glad that the marksman had his priorities sorted.

There was another splash, and a clatter of wood on stone. He glanced around to see the Australian standing up to his belly in water, with his bow in his hands, pulled taut.

There was an animal tooth on a strip of leather around his neck. As well as the scar down his face, there was another one across his chest, and a pattern of gouge marks across one side of his stomach that spoke of a nasty animal bite from something huge.

The Spy didn't get much time to appreciate this though, as there was an arrow aimed straight at his throat and that was the kind of thing that tended to really hold your attention.

There was a moment then, when everything was utterly still. A hysterical little bit at the back of his mind wondered what this scene would look like to an outsider. Possibly like some sort of modern day, homoerotic retelling of the myths of Artemis.

The arrow tip swung from the Spy, to the bear, then back to the Spy again. Behind it, the Sniper glared from one to the other.

'Shoot the bear! Shoot the bear!' It would have been unfair to say that the BLU squawked the words, but then again, life wasn't known for being fair.

'You took my hat,' the Sniper said, frowning.

'Yes, yes, but I'll give it back! Just shoot the bear.'

'The bear's not in respawn.'

'Of course not, it's a _bear_.'

The black bear gave a low grunt; most likely adding in its own opinion on the matter. Then it took a shuffling step towards the flickering blue thing on dinner plate-sized paws.

The Sniper made his decision.

An arrow shot through the air. And the Spy's neck.

He crumpled to the ground, his cloak giving out with a loud, electronic buzz.

The bear shied away from the sudden noise and movement, snorting through its nose in alarm.

The Sniper didn't waste his time. Another arrow nocked and ready, he stepped out of the water and went to grab his cloths. The bear gave him another confused snort but allowed him to hurriedly collect his clothes from the dead man's arms his hat off the dead man's head.

He backed away to the water's edge again and began to hurriedly tug on his clothes, keeping the bow close to hand. He didn't bother with underwear; trousers and shoes were his main priority.

The bear shuffled over to sniff at the Spy's corpse. The Sniper really wanted to get away from the area before it started to eat the body, or worse, decide to come after a living target. Bears could move incredibly fast when they wanted to.

The journey back to base was quick and nerve-racking, a polar opposite of how things had been earlier. But he knew that bears had an incredible sense of smell, and that if it wanted to, it could track him down from miles and miles away.

When Sniper finally made it back to base he slammed his van door closed and locked it. He threw his hat down on to the table and collapsed onto the padded seating.

The Spy had followed him.

All the time he's been enjoying his perfect solitude, that BLU bastard had probably been watching him. It made Sniper feel sick. What was with that guy? Why did he seem so obsessed with making the marksman's life miserable? And why the hell had he been stealing his clothes? And oh God, had he been watching him swimming? Oh shit. Sniper buried his face in his hands. There was one other thing he had to worry about. Dread hooked its claws tightly into his ribcage.

His superiors weren't going to be happy when they found out he'd killed an enemy off-hours and out-of-bounds. With any normal mercenary, they'd dock their pay. But Sniper wasn't a normal mercenary.

He was on Contract Zero.

 


	18. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more art by Bearibee to go with this chapter! For AO3 people it's halfway down the page. It's also on my tumblr, tagged under 'Foe Yay' and 'chapter 18'. I'll get the other images tagged properly after I've posted this.

Someone had slit his throat. Someone had slit his throat and nearby a woman was crying out. There wasn't any pain. There wasn't any blood. He couldn't even feel the wound under his hands but Sniper just _knew_ that if he moved them off his neck, he'd die.

He was in bed, but not in the one from his camper van, or prison, or the house before that. Instead it was his childhood bed, with the dark blue covers and the little stars and moons and rockets that he'd loved so much. That should have told him he was dreaming, but Sniper was too busy panicking to notice.

'Michelle! Michelle!' he tried to shout, but no sound came out. She was somewhere nearby. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was hurt. He could still hear her little cries of pain.

Every movement felt slow and sluggish, as though he were moving through treacle instead of air. He tried to struggle off the bed again and again without using his hands, but collapsed back down every time. Sniper was weak. And because of that, he couldn't do anything to help the woman who meant more to him than anything else in the world.

There was a knife under the pillow though. He'd always hidden it from Michelle, not wanting her to think he was paranoid on top of all his other faults. He knew with the abstract certainty of dreams that if only he could reach the knife, he'd have the strength he needed to go help his fiancée.

But to get the knife, he'd have to move one of his hands away from his neck. There was a moment of hesitation. His life or hers?

He grabbed for the knife and woke up with it gripped in his hand.

Except this wasn't the knife he'd been reaching for at all. The police had taken that one away as evidence.

That blade had been longer than this, and wider. And last he saw it, covered in blood from hilt-to-tip. His father had given it to him when he was fifteen. Some part of him missed it, but a larger part never wanted to see the damn thing again.

This other one meant nothing to him, but he clutched on to it tightly all the same as memories of the dream flickered around memories of the event it echoed. Sniper only ever had dreams to do with that morning when he was feeling especially stressed. They always left him shaken and angry and confused and afraid. Not the best way to start the day. What he needed was a distraction.

'Ow.'

Sniper flinched.

'What the hell?'

'Ow.'

It was the same little voice he'd heard in his sleep, but now that Sniper was awake, he could tell it wasn't coming from a human being.

Keeping hold of the knife, he climbed down from the alcove the slept in and padded over to the door. There came a faint _skritchskritchskritch_ from the other side of it. Gingerly, Sniper reached for the latch and then slowly swung open the door, hoping that he wasn't about to have to fight a mountain lion while wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

A stocky ginger and white cat stared up at him.

'Ow.'

'Meow,' Sniper corrected.

'Ow,' the cat argued, before letting itself in.

'Oi, if you piss in here I'll turn you into a nice pair of winter gloves.'

'Ow,' the cat promised.

'Where on earth did you come from, boy?'

The cat didn't answer, too busy rubbing its face up against every reachable surface. It quickly ran out of objects at ground level and moved on to Sniper's bare legs. He leant down and offered a hand for the cat to sniff. It butted its head into his palm and started to purr loudly when he ran his hand down its back.

'Friendly little boy, aren't you? No, wait, girl. Sorry.'

The cat accepted his apology with a gracious, 'Ow.'

'But you can't blame me,' Sniper continued, 'Ginger tabby cats are usually toms.'

Maybe he should have felt self-conscious over the fact that he was talking to a cat, but Sniper had a habit of talking to himself and to inanimate objects, so this wasn't nearly as bad.

He watched as the cat jumped first on to the seating, and then on to the table. From there she eyed up the distance between her and the mattress. It was just a little too far for her to manage.

'Ow.'

Sniper sighed and scooped her up, depositing her on the bed before she could decide to use her claws on him.

'Now if you pee up here, I'll make you into a pair of gloves, and the rest of your family into a nice warm coat.'

'Ow'

'Yeah, I thought so.'

He picked his watch up from the side of his pillow. Seven AM. He had plenty more time. Sniper clambered up into the sleeping space and watched the cat inspect every corner of it diligently, before stalking over to him for more fuss. He wriggled back under the covers, and to his surprise the ginger tabby dug her way under too. She curled up against his belly and after a couple of lazy strokes across her side, began to purr loudly.

'Good engine you've got there,' Sniper told the cat. 'Still got no idea where you came from though. And I bet you've got fleas.'

It did feel very odd having someone else's cat in his bed. Though, he reasoned, it wasn't exactly as bad as having someone else's wife there. It was harmless.

For a moment, a flicker of the dream returned to him, but he chased it away again. It took him no time at all to fall back asleep. This time he dreamt about speeding across an empty desert on a huge motorbike with a great rumbling engine.

 

When he next awoke, there was a moment of confusion as he wondered what on earth this warm furry lump in his bed was, until he poked it and it gave a grumpy little 'Ow.'

Sniper climbed out of bed, threw some clothes on and then carefully scooped up the cat off of his mattress. To his surprise, she stayed calm through the entire journey into the base, with just the slow flicking of her tail to show that she wasn't all that sure about this.

As usual, Spy appeared to be the only one up yet. He reading yesterday's newspaper and chewing on a piece of toast.

'Hey Spy, you any idea where this cat came from? I found her scratching at my door this morning.'

'Ah, la chatte! Haven't seen her in a while! According to Medic, she's been showing up every now and then for years, longer than I've been here. There's a small farm a couple of miles away from the base; we think she probably lives there.'

Sniper nodded. That made sense. 'She's too friendly to be feral,' he agreed, scratching the cat under her chin. The white markings splashed across her belly and under her jaw made it look as though she'd ran through a puddle of wet paint on her way over.

There was the sound of rapid footsteps approaching and Sniper braced himself. The Scout burst through the door at his usual high speed and swept past Sniper without a word. Then the paused.

'Hey, wait.' He turned back to Sniper. 'Slut Cat! Give her here!'

The marksman let the cat go as she was tugged out of his arms. Though alarmed at the sudden movement, the cat started to purr as soon as Scout had hold of her. He stole a slice of toast off Spy's plate and disappeared back out of the door again. The last Sniper saw of the cat was her face peering back at him over the Scout's shoulder, blinking slow and contentedly.

The Australian stood there for a moment, unexpectedly cat-less, before shrugging to himself. Easy come, easy go.

'Did he say “Slut Cat?”'

'Yes,' Spy replied, frowning at his now slightly less toasty plate. 'Scout's charming nickname for her on account of the fact that she'll sleep with anyone. BLUs included, we suspect. Soldier does not approve of her.'

Sniper snickered at that. He could just imagine the kind of things Soldier would have to say about it.

'Though honestly, it is a mystery how she keeps getting inside the base at all. You might not see her for a couple of months, and then suddenly be woken up at five in the morning by her scratching at your door.'

'You like cats then?'

'Oui. I like their independence and admire their hunting skills. I much prefer them to loud, smelly dogs.'

Not wanting to start an argument, Sniper stayed quiet. He liked both cats and dogs (and most other animals beside) and didn't see why everyone wanted you to pick one camp or the other.

Spy made the mistake of bringing up a couple of pet cats he used to own, and in response was regaled with tales of the many many cats that Sniper had grown up with. Spy just nodded and made agreeing noises whenever it seemed appropriate, while drinking his coffee and making more toast. Sniper didn't seem to pick up on any of the subtle hints he tried to give that he'd like to move onto a more interesting topic of conversation. He didn't mind all that much though, it was nice to see the Sniper acting enthusiastic about something.

The marksman fell quiet once the Engineer entered the room, but when Heavy and Medic joined them, he seemed happy to join in the conversation they were having about what winter was like in their native countries.

Sniper was just finishing washing up the bowl he'd used at breakfast, when Soldier came in carrying the mail. He tossed the daily newspaper on to the table for Spy and Engineer to squabble over.

'Junk, junk, junk,' Soldier grumbled under his breath, sorting through the pile of envelopes in his hands. 'Ah, one for you, Engie.'

Spy used the distraction to steal the paper and retire into the rec room to read it.

Sniper flicked the suds off his fingers and was just casting about for something to dry them on when Soldier said, 'Something here for you, Sniper.' He hurriedly wiped his hands down the front of his trousers, before taking the proffered envelope.

It was red. Ominously red, with the Reliable Excavation and Demolitions logo printed in the corner.

'Um, thanks,' Sniper muttered. Medic looked around curiously at him as he turned and left the room without saying goodbye.

By the time Sniper reached his van, his hands were shaking. He hated when that happened. It wasn't a very good thing for a marksman to do under stress. Once he was safely hidden away from prying eyes, he ripped open the envelope. Inside on thick cream paper was a very wordy little letter. His eyes skimmed over it, picking out phrases such as, ' _gracious second chance_ ', ' _rare opportunity_ ' and ' _great disappointment_ ' until he finally came to the consequences of his actions.

An additional six months of service was going to be added to his contract for killing a BLU outside of the allotted fighting time, and another six for doing so out of bounds whilst on probation.

A year. A whole year. That's what a little jaunt in the woods and a rash decision had cost him. An entire extra year of his life, on top of his already lengthy contract. A whole bloody year.

There was an extra little mention about the nature of his contract at the end of the latter. Sniper read it through carefully, frowning to himself.

_'Due to the aforementioned circumstances, Mr Mundy, we feel that it is prudent to remind you that it was you who signed this contract of employment of your own free will and are bound hereby to all of its terms and conditions. Whilst we regret having to resort to disciplinary action regarding the above matters, it has been deemed necessary to bring your attention to this simple fact, and should there be any further breaches of the terms and conditions of your contract in the future, we shall be forced to act in manner befitting the transgression.'_

It was a very politely written warning. He was RED's for the next eleven years now, and if he proved to be more of a liability to the company than an asset, then that might cause... issues. It wasn't quite a threat. Or at least, it was pretending not to be, but for once, even Sniper couldn't miss the subtext.

He hid the letter away at the bottom of the storage space under the seating. He'd rather just have burned the thing but he was paranoid about doing anything to upset his employers now, even in the safety of his own home.

So, that was what RED had to say on the matter. Sniper suspected he'd be finding out what the BLU Spy's response was very soon.

Today's battle was not going to be fun. He wished he could just go back to bed, curl up around the cat and sleep for a thousand years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter; I just wanted to get another done up before I start my Master's next week. That was why I'd been wanting to get this story finished by October, because I didn't want to be writing it (and another long fic too) while trying to do my Master's degree at the same time. Well, I've roughly met the word count I'd intended for this fic, so I've done as much work on it as I hoped. It just happens that the story itself has got longer and longer.  
> I can promise that this doesn't mean I'll be dropping the fic. Hopefully I'll continue to update at least once a month, but I guess I'm just giving an early warning that activity might possibly decrease, or that I may find it better to return to writing shorter chapters than I have been doing recently.  
> Thanks again goes to my boyfriend for proof reading this chapter, as well as writing that section of Sniper's letter. He's used to writing history essays, so he has more experience in writing professional sounding copy than I do.


	19. Valid Paranoia

Exactly one hour before Monday's battle began, respawn spat out the BLU Spy. The last thing he remembered was making a complete fool of himself in front of the enemy Sniper. And a bear. But it was the Sniper he was more bothered about. Very bothered. And very angry. He was going to make the RED regret his decision yesterday. Oh yes he was.

The Spy went marching off down the corridor. He was going to have to move fast if he wanted to have enough time to eat, shower and change before the match. He passed by his team's Heavy without a word. As with the rest of his team, he had little time for the Heavy. The man was a brute. A handsome one, with his close-cropped blond hair, chiselled jaw and broad chest, but a brute all the same. He was of no interest to the Spy.

The Polish man spent most of his time in the Medic's company, and went off to find him as soon as the Spy disappeared around the corner. The doctor would want to know that the backstabber was alive and well. Not because he cared about the man's well-being, but because he was very interested in knowing how the Spy had managed to get himself killed by an arrow to the throat. Respawn could tell you how a man had died last, if you knew which codes to input into the system. This was very useful when you wanted to know exactly what to mock your team mates for.

The Spy was nearly late for the start of the match. He came through the teleporter that brought him from the BLU base to the resupply room just a minute before the grill rattled opened and released them on to the battlefield. That one minute was enough time for the Medic to ask him several annoying questions while the rest of the team listened in, smirking. They all knew that their Spy had managed to get himself killed Sunday morning. Not because they'd missed him, but because the Engineer had noticed he was in the respawn system while doing his weekly check-ups. At weekends and after hours, respawn was always turned down to working on half power, meaning it would collect up anybody who died, but wouldn't give them back until it booted up to full-speed an hour before the next match began. You could lose the whole weekend if you ended up dying near the start of it.

The commonly accepted theory was that really it wouldn't cost their employers all that much more to keep it working properly all the time, but that they liked to passive-aggressively punish the mercenaries stupid enough to get themselves killed off the clock.

 

Currently, the Spy was feeling rather angry over his lost free time. There were so many things he could have got done, if it hadn't been for the Sniper choosing to shoot him over a damn bear. It was probably stealing the hat that had done it.

The Spy had just two things to console himself with. One was that he'd probably ruined any sense of peace the Sniper had gained on his walk, and the other was the many many ways he could get pay-back. There were some unusual tools he had at his disposal, which, strictly speaking, weren't allowed on the battlefield. The administrator had a habit though of allowing spies like him to get away with a little more than they should though. He presumed it was because it made things just that little more entertaining for her, if she watched them as closely as he suspected she did.

But it wasn't the Sniper that he intended to go after just yet. The Australian would know that revenge was coming, so once again the Spy was going to let the anticipation be half the punishment. Instead, it was time to lavish a little of his attention of the enemy Heavy and Medic. Spy had neglected the poor things entirely since the Heavy arrived. He didn't even know what it felt like to have cold steel sunk into his spine. He'd never heard the pop of his own vertebra being twisted out of place. He'd never turned around looking for his Medic, only to find the man dead at his feet.

It was time to change that.

This decision went a long way in helping to cheer up the Spy. There was nothing like finally allowing yourself to do something you'd been looking forward to for ages. He had to admit that he may have ruined his own plan a little bit by assaulting their Sniper in front of them, but never mind.

It didn't take long to find the two men, but he decided to let his team mates deal with them this time. The Spy wanted to get deep inside their territory before he struck. It took a little patience, but after half an hour the perfect opportunity presented itself.

Medic respawned and stayed inside the resupply room, no doubt waiting for his Heavy to come through a well. All the while, he stared out through the glass, watching out for signs of the enemy approaching. He had no idea that the Spy was lurking just outside, cloaked and invisible.

To anyone else, the Medic would have looked calm and collected. Or bored, even. But not to the Spy. He knew better. He knew the man's every tell. He knew what made him tick. He knew his every sign of weakness. And he knew exactly what to do to reduce the doctor to a complete and utter wreck. The RED Sniper, Heavy, Scout and Spy had no idea how thin that stoic facade of the Medic's really was. The others did of course; they'd seen it happen first hand.

And now it was time to show the rest of the team too.

Except, no. He couldn't. He'd agreed. The Spy's word meant little to anyone, least of all himself. Instead, it was the promised consequences that held him in check. There was no way he was going through _that_ again. Automatically the Spy found himself running a hand across his throat. Even without his gloves and balaclava on, he wouldn't have been able to feel anything there. The only thing that remained to him of that time were ugly memories and stifled hatred.

All the same, a single day of special attention wouldn't break their little agreement. The Spy had only promised to stop using the Medic as the subject of a little experiment he'd been doing on the battlefield. It had been the kind that required time to work; it couldn't be done in one day. And after this he'd back off of the Medic for the rest of the week. The damage would be done by then anyway.

After five minutes or so, the Heavy respawned.

'Come, doctor, more BLUs to kill!' the shouted, hoisting up his minigun and making straight for the grill as fast as his short legs would allow him. He didn't look around for his Medic, and just assumed that his usual partner was following him. The doctor didn't share his hearty enthusiasm, but diligently trailed after the Heavy, glancing around surreptitiously as he did.

It was perfect. The first stage of the Spy's plan had panned out just as he had hoped. The Heavy was charging off to fight without even thinking to watch out for the Spy. And why should he? None of his experiences here so far had encouraged him to. The Medic however, was distracted and on edge. He hadn't been stabbed by the Spy for an entire week and must know that it couldn't last. Hopefully, he'd been getting more and more wound up by it with every day that passed. The sensible thing of course, would be for him to talk to someone about it. To share his fears and get them out in the open, rather than worrying about it all by his self. But he wouldn't have done. The Spy knew the doctor was far too independent for that. It was his job to see to other people's problems, not to waste their time talking about his own.

If it was any conciliation to him, the Medic could stop worrying about when the next back stab might be coming, because it was right this very minute.

It was a nice, clean backstab. One for the Spy to feel proud of. People just didn't seem to realise how tricky they could be on medics. That big, heavy medigun pack really got in the way of things. You either had to go low for a paralysing stab to the lower back and finish them off after, or reach over the top of the pack to get them in the base of the neck. That one could be especially tricky, but the Spy had got the hang of it long ago.

The Medic crumpled to the ground, his medigun making a loud clunk as it fell from his slack hands. The Spy cloaked immediately, expecting the Heavy to notice. But no, he kept on going without a backwards glance. He had no idea at all that his precious doctor wasn't following him anymore. The Spy sniggered quietly to himself and followed after the Russian. It wasn't until he was halfway across the main bridge that he noticed he was all alone.

'Medic? Doctor?'

He seemed confused, peering back through the wide doorway, expecting to see the other man appear around the corner any second. Instead, the BLU Sniper took the opportunity to put a nice round bullet hole straight through his head. The projectile burst out through the other side, spattering the nearby concrete wall with blood and gore. The Spy glanced down at himself to see little red speckles of it all over his suit. He was not impressed.

He had roughly fifteen minutes before the Heavy respawned again, and decided he might as well do something with that time. The Spy was very keen to see his team win for once. Usually he didn't care who won or lost. He'd discovered that if he was wearing a disguise while cloaked, he could remain invisible during a humiliation round. So all the Spy had to do was get himself somewhere a little out of the way when it seemed like the match was about to end, and nine times out of ten that was all it took to stay safe.

Of course, there was a bonus added to their pay whenever they won three or more times in one week, but even the lure of a little more cash wasn't enough to cut through the Spy's inherent laziness.

He followed the beeping of a sentry gun right to the enemy intelligence and waited until the Engineer was out of the way before diving in to sap everything. Now, their Engineer was one he tried to avoid antagonising. If the Spy took out his buildings too many times in a row, he'd go and hunt him down with that Frontier Justice and heavy wrench of his. If it had been the BLU Engineer going after him like that, it wouldn't be much to worry about. But the RED? As the Texan said himself, he was wolverine mean, and had the skill to match.

So it was always best to stay out of his way and only go after his things when it was really necessary.

There weren't any other men on the enemy team that the Spy would handle with such respect, but there were a couple he had very little interest in tormenting, as they simply weren't his type. Nothing about the Demoman or Soldier made them appealing targets for anything more than the usual backstab.

The Spy raced off with the RED intelligence. He pressed it firmly into the arms of the first team mate he found. The Demoman blinked in surprise with his one good eye. Both at his sudden and unexpected acquisition of an item that would send the entire enemy team after him, and the fact that he's actually seen the Spy _running_. Since when did that little masked snake of theirs actually put any effort into these matches? He didn't have time to stand around wondering though; the RED Pyro was charging his way. Best to scarper now before those flames got a chance to catch up to him.

The Heavy had already respawned by the time the Spy got to the resupply, and busy talking to the Medic. He leant in against a small gap in the grill to listen to them.

'I turn around and you are not there!'

'Yes, as I said, the Spy got me.'

'But how could this happen? You were right behind me!'

'Yes. And obviously the Spy was right behind _me_. You need to pay more attention, Heavy.'

'I do pay attention. Plenty of attention,' the larger man grumbled. 'Come doctor, this is wasting time.' The Medic made an irritable sound and followed him out.

The Spy ducked out of the way just in time to avoid a minigun connecting with his head. The second the Medic passed him, he uncloaked and stabbed the doctor. The Spy kept hold of him by his medigun pack. The man was a literal dead weight, but the Frenchman wasn't interested in keeping him standing, just in quieting his fall. The moment his victim was down on the concentrate floor, the Spy cloaked and crouched down over him.

Mindful of his Medic's words, the Heavy glanced around to check on him. And found him dead on the floor.

'Doctor?'

The situation took a moment to register, but the minute it did the Heavy's face twisted into a grimace of anger and he brought up his minigun to bear. He let out a spray of bullets in a circle all around himself. But they were all at hip height and he didn't shoot too close to the body of his friend. Exactly as the Spy had expected. Stupid, sentimental people were so easy to predict.

The heavy could either wait another fifteen minutes for the Medic to respawn, or go off by himself. He'd had very little chance to so anything productive so far, and decided to go off and try and make up for that. Again, it was just what the Spy thought he would do.

Alone now, and on edge, the Russian kept on glancing around for danger. The moment he spotted the enemy Soldier though, all his attention zeroed in on the BLU. His minigun's barrel began to spin and it was just about to fire out a round of expensive, custom-designed bullets when it fell from slack hands. The Heavy toppled over on top of it and lay still. The Spy stood there behind him, grinning triumphantly.

The smile disappeared a moment later, when he spotted a belated rocket flying his way. The Spy only just managed to dive out of the way in time, and stuck up his middle finger in response. The Soldier probably didn't even notice it though. It was hard to see little details like that when there's an over-sized helmet obscuring your vision.

There was a delay in getting back to the enemy resupply room in the form of a very fast RED Scout and a heavy bat to the back of the head. When he respawned, the Spy made a note to himself to get back at the boy for doing that, and made his way back over the bridge. He nearly crashed straight into his own team's Scout as he ran past, cradling a broken arm and yelling for the Medic. The Spy rolled his eyes. Like the German was going to waste his time healing a Scout. The Spy himself couldn't remember the last time he'd got so much as a slight over-heal while waiting for a battle to begin. Though admittedly, the fact that they both thoroughly disliked each other might have had something to do with that.

By the time he found them, the RED Heavy-Medic combo had managed to get half way back to his own team's side of the map. They were using the warren of old buildings that lined either side of the gorge, rather than the main bridge. Obviously they thought they were being clever in doing so. And obviously they were wrong.

Both of them kept on glancing around, ever wary of another backstab. But there were so many corners they had to go around, and Medic had to slow down to match Heavy's pace. As soon as the bigger man disappeared around a good enough corner, Spy dived in. This stab wasn't as neat as the last and he had no time to stop the Medic from collapsing straight on to the ground. The Heavy heard it and reappeared back around the corner, his face twisted up in anger. It was the Spy's sloppy stab that saved him. The Medic let out a weak groan and instead of spraying bullets around the near vicinity, he dropped to his friend's side. He looked more distressed than angry now. Heavy was no healer, no medic. He had no idea at all what he could do to help. In truth, there really wasn't anything. A sigh escaped the doctor as he died. With minor injuries, they often healed themselves thanks to his constant exposure to the medigun's rays. But a fatal wound was a fatal wound, all the same.

The Heavy pulled himself back to his feet and glared around. The Spy was already a building away before the first bullets were fired. He was heading straight back to the heart of the enemy base. The Heavy had got too far to turn back now, and the Medic would be rushing out to find him as soon as he respawned.

Unfortunately, the RED Pyro came out of the resupply room with him, and proceeded to douse the whole area in flames. The Spy was glad he hadn't got back just a minute earlier. If he'd been lying in wait for the Medic, he'd have been burnt to a crisp by now.

He took the opportunity to watch his intended victim. The man was jumpy. Very jumpy. A rocket went off in the distance and he flinched. The Medic kept twitching his head around to glance over his shoulder too, even though the Pyro had just covered the entire area.

The Spy was impressed. That paranoid streak he'd worked so hard to bring out in the Medic had come back to the fore impressively quickly.

After a heartfelt thanks to the Pyro, the Medic went off to find his Heavy. He never made it.

 

For the rest of the match, The Spy did everything in his power to make life hell for his targets. He backstabbed them whenever he got a chance, and when he wasn't able to, he'd uncloak for a second in view and then disappear around a corner. Every single time the hyper-vigilant pair would send bullets and syringes after him, but few ever hit. It became quite a game, seeing how far away he could be, or how briefly he could appear and still have them panic at that little flash of a blue suit.

Of course, it didn't always pan out perfectly. A couple of times he ran around a corner straight into another RED, or else someone else had the Heavy and Medic's attention just when he was trying to get it.

It was also a lot of work, but oh boy was it worth it. By the time night had well and truly fallen and the Spy had come into his element, the two of them were barely holding it together. It was music to the Spy's ears to hear them fighting and bickering with each other, both blaming the other for their most recent deaths.

'Is not my job to babysit Medic.'

'I never said it was, I'm just asking you to pay attention to what's going on behind your fat ass for once!'

'No, I do not have a “fat ass”. I am already like meat shield for you. I protect you from the front; you should have my back.'

'I do have your back! The problem is, no one has _mine_!'

'Should watch your own more then.'

'I'm trying. For gods sake, don't you think I'm trying? I don't get myself killed on porpoise, you know!'

'Should hope not. Porpoise is like dolphin, I think.'

'Argh! What right do you think you have correcting my English? You can barely string a god damn sentence together properly!'

The Spy snickered quietly to himself from his hiding place, and watched as the two men stormed off in different directions. If they were easy targets together, they were going to be even easier ones alone.

It was a pity this couldn't last. Soon the Heavy would learn to adapt to the Spy's attacks, and he'd have to back off the Medic if he wanted to avoid a repeat of what had happened last time he pushed him too far.

But no matter, there was still plenty of time left in the match to enjoy himself. And of course, there was still a RED Sniper he needed to go and visit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter should be out fairly soon. I'm busy all next weekend so it might not be until a bit after that, but it certainly wont be a long wait.   
> It's one that I'm looking forward to writing. Which is never a good thing for poor old Snipes.
> 
> Thanks again go to the boyfriend for proof reading this chapter (which of course means if there any errors left in, I'm shifting all the blame to him entirely.) He appears to have ended up firmly on team 'make the BLU Spy as much of a creep as possible' if his suggestions are anything to go by. It's nice to have a partner who's supportive of your villains.


	20. Retribution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter twenty. If you'd told me when I first started this that it'd reach twenty chapters... I probably never would have started! I only intended this to be a little bit of writing practice to stop me from getting rusty over the summer, after all. But here we are, at chapter twenty and finally getting the plot kick-started. I get to actually explain some things now. Or at the very least, hint at them a bit more obviously.  
> First piece of art by [Astabeta](http://websta.me/n/astabeta)  
> Second piece of art by [ Bearibee](http://bearibee.tumblr.com/)  
> Thanks so much to those guys!

There was no two ways about it, Sniper was useless all battle. He just couldn't settle down or concentrate. Every few seconds he was glancing over his shoulder to check that the BLU Spy wasn't looming over him, knife in hand. Even when he caught a glimpse of the masked man through his scope on the other side of the bridge, he couldn't relax. He had no idea what the Spy was up to, but he kept spotting little flashes of blue all over the place. If he'd been in a calmer state of mind, Sniper was sure he could have got a few good headshots on the snake, but he fumbled every shot that he managed to get off in the BLU's direction.

He wondered if the Spy was targeting Heavy and Medic. The two of them were acting more jumpy and paranoid every time he caught sight of them. Sniper even spotted them arguing heatedly at one point, something he'd never seen them do before.

It seemed best to keep on changing locations, just in case the Spy decided to take a break from whatever he was doing to harass his current targets and came after Sniper. It could only be a matter of time, after all.

At one point he bumped into Engineer carrying a sentry off to a better position and decided to mention his concern about Heavy and Medic. The Engineer nodded shortly and scowled. 'Yeah, and he's been in and sapped all my buildings too.'

But if the Texan ever did anything to try and help the situation, Sniper didn't notice.

 

By the late hours of the match, it appeared that Heavy and Medic had decided to go their separate ways. He spotted Medic off with Pyro, who was doing frequent spychecks. That made Sniper suspect that the Spy would be concentrating on Heavy instead. He watched the Russian lug his minigun off towards enemy territory very carefully.

Just as he suspected, a blue blur materialised behind a crate Heavy had just passed and solidified into the form of the Spy. He rushed forward, right arm raised high. A moment before he could stab his knife into Heavy's exposed back, a bullet pierced the side of his head. Heavy didn't even notice, too intent on firing at a level one sentry the enemy Engineer was desperately trying to build.

'Oh god,' Sniper muttered to himself, a leftover wave of adrenaline sweeping through him, leaving his hands feeling shaky. 'I'm in for it now.'

Then he frowned down his scope as the Engineer ducked out of sight, abandoning the scraps of metal that had been his sentry. 'Only doing my job,' Sniper added to himself quietly. 'Only doing my job.'

 

Just a few minutes before the match ended, Medic stumbled into Sniper's nest. He looked a complete mess. His usually neat hair was all over the place, his glasses were askew and blood was spattered all the way down his front.

'Bad day?' Sniper asked.

'Oh yes,' Medic replied tiredly, 'a very bad day indeed.' He slowly eased himself on to a nearby crate and let out a sigh. 'How's it been for you? I haven't heard many rifle shots. Then again, I've spent half the match in respawn so I haven't exactly been able to keep track.'

'Eh, not my best day,' Sniper admitted. 'I've been a little on edge.'

'Why's that?'

Sniper hesitated. He hadn't told anybody about shooting the Spy out of hours, or what had been in the letter he'd received that morning.

'Oh, just the weird way the enemy Spy's been acting really. I suspect you know more about that than I do.'

Medic groaned and nodded. Sniper returned to his scope in time to see the tail end of a long lab coat disappear out of sight over on the BLU side. 'Huh. Looks like the other Medic's retreating. Wouldn't recommend him going that way though; I just saw Demoman down there.'

'Oh?' Medic pulled himself to his feet and went to stand behind Sniper. 'I can't see them,' he said, peering out the window.

'Nah. They're out of sight now.'

Sniper felt uneasy having someone standing right behind him. That annoyed him. Had the BLU Spy really got to him that quickly?

'Demoman's wasting his time though. There's no point trying to push forward now when there's about two minutes before we lose,' Sniper added.

'Maybe he wants to get himself killed before the humiliation round begins.'

'Heh, good idea. I think the two of us will probably be fine all the way back here though. There's plenty of places around to hide in.'

'Really? I must admit, I'm rarely over here. Usually Heavy and I stick to the main routes and try and get into the enemy base as quickly as we can.'

'Oh yeah, I've found you can reach the rafters in some buildings. By the time a match ends it's nice and dark so you can just hide up in the roof space and watch them all run around below you like little BLU ants. It's great. They haven't found me once yet!'

'Hmm. I'll make sure to remember that little trick,' Medic promised. 'So, you haven't been killed during humiliation yet? That's quite impressive.'

'Well, uh, there's been a couple of times I haven't had chance to hide. Their Soldier got me one time. The Spy got me another.'

That had been horrible. Especially the way the enemy Medic just _watched_. Sniper had no idea though if he should actually feel glad that the German doctor had appeared. Because the Spy had been acting as though he might do even worse things than grope Sniper, but when he told the Medic that he was going to show him what happened next, it had involved a balisong to the chest. So, had the other threat been a hollow one, or had he simply not wanted an audience for what he'd really been intending to do? Sniper had no way of knowing and that unsettled him as much as anything else.

'Think I'm going to try and avoid that happening again,' he muttered, more to himself than the doctor.

'Hmm, good luck with that,' Medic said.

Then he stabbed Sniper.

Sniper yelled, his hands convulsing around his rifle. His shock and confusion was so overwhelming he barely noticed the pain. Then the knife in his shoulder twisted. Sniper felt steel grate against bone and heard something pop out of place. A wave of agony swept through him and patches of black static danced in front of his eyes. It was so intense that for a moment he blacked out entirely. Next thing Sniper knew, his rifle and hat were gone and someone was sitting on the crate, pressed up close to him. The marksman found himself staring up at the ceiling. When he tried to move his head, it was kept in place by a hand with a tight fistful of his hair. And there was something sharp and cold was pressed against his throat.

Pain radiated out from his right shoulder in waves. It was echoed by the little tremors of adrenaline and shock that ran through his body. Sniper tried to raise his right arm, but all he could do was move his fingers slightly. His fingertips twitched against the side of the crate, producing an erratic little tapping sound.

Sniper was still reeling, completely unable to comprehend what was happening.

'What? What the—what the hell?'

He hadn't felt so deeply and utterly betrayed in years. He'd trusted the Medic. _Trusted_ him. And then he'd gone and-

'That's the first time you've seen one of my disguises up close, is it not, Monsieur?' the Spy purred. His words were smooth and predatory, like a cat slinking through the under-brush, and spoken just behind Sniper's left ear.

Sniper flinched, the sharp knife at his neck slicing into his skin. It was only a small nick, causing a single bead of blood to well up and trickle sluggishly down his throat.

'I'm quite convincing, aren't I?' the Spy said, mimicking Medic's voice perfectly. 'I bet this came as a shock. Though, you must have been expecting retribution to come at some point. You shot me through the throat and so...' he eased back into his usual voice as he continued, 'you deserve a little something in return.'

Sniper's jaw clenched as a mixture of fear and hatred bubbled up inside him. The Spy had no right. No right at all to hurt him again and again and then try and claim that Sniper had brought it on himself. It was the Spy's own damn fault for following him out into the woods. His own damn fault for stealing his clothes. Especially his hat. It was him who had brought that death upon himself.

This wasn't retribution. It was nothing more than self-indulgent revenge.

But the fear was there too. He'd already died a number of painful and grizzly deaths. Sniper had known what he was letting himself in for when he signed that contract. But this wasn't a bullet through the head or a rocket to the chest. This was a knife at his throat.

Last night's dream wormed its way to the front of his mind.

The knife moved away a little, but not far enough for Sniper to dare move. His dominant arm was out of commission, and his left hand was at his side. In the time it would take for him to reach up and grab Spy's wrist, the man would have already slit his throat.

All Sniper could do was stare up at the top of the window frame and hope that another BLU would spot him and shoot him, but the only sounds of gunfire were coming from deep within the RED base. Did that mean the match was over? Sniper hadn't heard an announcement. Maybe he'd been unconscious for more than a few seconds after all. He certainly felt sluggish and slow enough for there to be a humiliation round going on, but that might just be down to pain and blood loss.

Deft fingers slid beneath Sniper's collar, soft leather grazing the side of his neck.

Fresh panic shot through him.

'Get off me, get off me, get off me!' he hissed through gritted teeth.

The Spy laughed, delicate and mocking. Then he gave a vicious tug on Sniper's hair, yanking his head back further. Sniper yelped, and his eyes started to water from the sharp pain in his scalp.

'Oh, I don't think so.'

'Fuck! Get off me, you fucking creepy little—ah!'

The Spy did it again, Sniper's back arching to cope with the strain.

The masked man pulled at his collar and flattened it down, exposing more of Sniper's neck.

'Hmm, I thought so. I thought so. Whoever did this missed the jugular and carotid artery, I presume?'

The Spy ran a finger across Sniper's throat, tracing a thin white scar that stretched across it. The Australian shivered, too addled by shock and pain to try and pull away.

'Must have done, for you to still be alive,' the Spy murmured, talking more to himself now than the Sniper. 'Still, it was nice of them to give me a guideline to cut along.'

'Don't!' It was a strain to talk with his head wrenched back at such an angle and his throat pulled taut. 'Oh god, don't! Please. Don't.'

The spy made a curious humming noise. Obviously, this injury had left mental scars as well as physical ones. Well, that offered some interesting opportunities.

'Beg,' he said.

'Please don't! Don't. Just don't. Please.'

Spy was impressed, that had taken hardly any prompting at all. He really must have hit the post-trauma goldmine right here.

'Please don't do—'

'Ahh, let me cut you off right there,' the Spy interrupted. It was a pity there was no one else around to appreciate how smooth that line was, in the Spy's opinion.

The blade slashed across Sniper's throat, cutting through skin and muscle and trachea. Sniper gasped. It was a sickeningly damp, sucking sound that didn't seem to quite make it all the way up to his mouth. His whole body arched off of the crate, his knees colliding with the windowsill. His left hand flew to his throat, to the wound that gaped on one side where the muscle had been sliced clean through. Sniper's arm caught the knife on the way up, cutting him and knocking the blade of the Spy's hand. He didn't notice.

It was like that morning all over again. Except this time the wound was deeper, Michelle was already dead and there was no phone on the other side of the bed for him to reach shaking, blood-smeared fingers towards.

The Spy let go of the marksman's hair and Sniper bowed forwards, blood streaming down his front. He tried to pull himself off of the edge of the crate, desperate to get away from the Spy. His legs gave way and he fell heavily, his right elbow whacking against the edge of the wooden box. Sniper barely even noticed. The whole of that arm felt cold and numb below his dislocated shoulder.

Breathing was a terrible, impossible task. It felt like a clamp was being wound tighter and tighter around his chest with every new gurgling rasp. Everything was out of focus and felt far away, as though he was being dragged out of this world and into an even more terrible and darker one.

The Spy lit a cigarette as he watched the Sniper try and crawl away. The marksman's right arm couldn't support his weight and he pitched forward, only just catching himself with his other one. It left a bright red hand-print behind on the floor. Then the Sniper collapsed forward on top of it. He clapped his palm back to his ruined throat and curled his legs up underneath him, forehead pressed against the dusty ground.

The Spy found it fascinating how he could reduce a man larger than himself to such a small, pathetic little creature. Successful backstabs were glorious things. Tiny, perfect instances of exhilaration and heady triumph. But this, this was something else altogether. This went far beyond the satisfaction of a good backstab. This was cruelty for cruelty's sake. This was domination.

The Spy revelled in it.

It was moments like this that made up for everything. It was moments like this in which he proved to the world that he was the top predator. Not the cowering prey. Never again. He was the one to be feared these days.

The Spy picked up his knife from the floor and circled Sniper, smoking calmly as he watched the hunched figure shudder and gasp. He stopped when he'd completed a full-circle and found himself directly behind the marksman. It was rare to see one of his enemies with their backs so exposed when they knew he was in the room with them. The Spy couldn't resist. He traced his fingertips down the Sniper's spine. Beneath him, the marksman flinched but didn't try and get away. The Spy ran his hand back up again until he reached his favourite place for backstabs. Upper back, right between the shoulder blades.

An idea occurred to him then, one prompted by his thoughts about the RED Medic earlier. It had been a while since he'd had a real pet project, hadn't it? And the Sniper would make for the perfect test subject...

The Spy smiled to himself as he stabbed the blade into Sniper's spine, between the exact two vertebra as he had done the first time he ever backstabbed him.

 

The next thing Sniper knew, he was standing in a brightly lit room with eight other people. Respawn. He barely managed the two steps it took to reach the bench. He collapsed on to it, one hand pawing at his throat. It was fine. No gaping wound. No blood. No slashed windpipe. He was fine. Physically, that was. Mentally, he was a mess. He was trapped so deeply in his own horror that he didn't even notice the argument drawing everyone else's attention until it turned to shouting.

'You stupid little man! How could you uber enemy Spy?'

Sniper's attention snapped back into the real world with a jolt. The sheer volume of Heavy's voice made it startlingly intimidating as anger thickened his accent.

For one terrible moment Sniper was a child again and that man was looming over him, his bulk almost eclipsing the midday sun and-

No. His mind reeled away from that memory. He was barely able to keep himself together at the moment without being forced to relive his second worst memory as well as his first.

'I thought he was you! He was in disguise!' Medic shouted back.

'You are stupid doctor, how can you make such a mistake?'

'You've never seen him in a disguise before, have you?'

'Does not matter! I am so much bigger, how can you think he is me?'

'Because he was in disguise, you idiot! That means he looked and sounded identical to you, not that he was, not that he—' Medic broke off, pacing up and down, gesturing with his hands as he tried to work out what to say. 'It doesn't mean he just stuck a bald-cap on and stuffed a pillow up his shirt!'

Scout laughed at that, but it was a small, uncertain kind of sound. The others either stood still and quiet, trying not to draw the attention of the arguing men, or were rummaging exaggeratedly through their lockers, pretending they didn't notice the shouting match.

'And I was desperate, all right?' Medic continued, sounding more tired than angry now. He rubbed a gloved hand across his face, making his glasses crooked. 'I hadn't managed to deploy an uber all match and then Pyro got blown up just as I was about to charge him and then you— well, the Spy came around the corner. I didn't have chance to work out it wasn't really you before their Soldier was firing rockets at me. So, yes, I accidentally ubered the enemy Spy.

'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get started on dinner. I will not be requiring any assistance.'

He stormed out of the room. There was a long moment in which no one else moved, then Heavy sighed and went trailing after him. It looked as though Medic was going to end up with a sous chef whether he liked it or not.

Spy sat down on the bench with a relieved sigh and began to dig through his pockets in search of a lighter. Now that the drama was over, the rest of the team filed out of respawn in ones and twos. Frowning, Spy patted down his jacket, an unlit cigarette already clamped between his teeth. He turned to Sniper to ask if he had a lighter on him, and then stopped. Sniper was sitting hunched up, one hand clutching at his throat and his eyes staring off at nothing at all.

'Sniper?' The marksman didn't respond. Spy edged closer and took the cigarette out of his mouth so he could speak more clearly. 'Sniper?' Still no response. He reached out a hand and touched his team mate lightly on the shoulder. Sniper jumped and stared around wildly. For a moment he didn't seem to see Spy, his miss-matched eyes wide behind his aviators. Then his shoulders slumped.

'Uh, sorry.' He gave an awkward little laugh. 'Off in my own little world there.'

'Are you all right, Sniper?'

Sniper coughed and nodded vaguely. 'Um, yeah. Yeah. I'm fine.'

'Are you sure?' Spy wasn't feeling all that convinced.

'Uh, yeah. Just, you know...'

'The BLU Spy?'

The name was enough to make Sniper flinch, the memory of his latest death too recent and raw. He tried to hide his reaction, but the RED Spy was far too good at noticing little details to miss it. His eyes narrowed.

'Bad death?'

Sniper's hand strayed back up to his throat and he ran his fingertips across the scar there without even noticing he was doing it. 'Yeah. You could say that.'

Spy stayed quiet, giving his team mate space. If Sniper wanted to talk about it, he would. There was a long, heavy pause before the marksman spoke again.

'He just... just found another nasty little way to kill me, that's all.' He shrugged. 'Does he do this kind of thing to everyone?'

Spy took a moment to consider his answer. 'The enemy Spy has a habit of going after different people for a time. I'm sure that he'll get bored of targeting you soon. He won't stop killing you of course, but the deaths won't be as, ah, _unusual_. He's too lazy to keep up anything that requires actual effort.'

While that was true, Spy didn't actually think his counterpart was going to give up as easily as that. He'd known the BLU Spy longer than anyone else here and this level of targeting was unusual even for him. And Spy knew that he wasn't even aware of the full extent of the situation. Over the weekend, Medic had hinted at something that he refused to explain further. Whatever it was, it had obviously left him feeling very concerned for their new Sniper.

Interestingly, Spy himself was rarely killed by the masked BLU, let alone murdered in any particularly gruesome ways. It would have been nice if he could believe that was down to his own skills, but Spy knew it wasn't. The reason why he wasn't targeted by the enemy Spy was because the other man wanted to show him that he wasn't worthy of any extra attention. He needn't have gone to the effort, Spy had already known that for years.

'Oh, right. Good. Guess I'll just have to wait it out then.' The Australian tried for a smile but it ended up more of a grimace. 'Right, I better get going. Uh, stuff to do and all that.' He gave the Spy a final little nod and stood up to leave.

Spy watched him go, rolling the unlit cigarette between his fingers as he tried to work out if there was anything he could do. He'd make sure to check up on Sniper more during battles and try and kill his counterpart as often as possible. But that wasn't going to get to the root of the problem. The root of the problem was the enemy Spy. He frowned to himself. There was one thing he could try. He really didn't want to, but he could give it a go.

Spy wondered when he'd started to care this much. Not about winning or losing this strange little war, but about his team mates. Were they simply more likeable people then the men he'd originally fought alongside? Or was it him who had changed over the years? Become less aloof, less distant, less dismissive? Spy had no idea if he'd become softer over the years, or stronger. It was certainly going to take a special kind of inner strength to swallow his pride and do what he had to to help Sniper.

He stood and tucked the cigarette back into his disguise kit. He had a message to send.

 

Sniper wasn't even sure what he was drawing. At the moment it was just a circle. The biro went around and around and around, digging further and further into the paper until it ripped straight through it. He tore the page off and scrunched it up into a tight ball, before throwing it on to the floor. He looked down at the next page and realised the pen tip had gone through that one too. He ripped it out. And the next. And the next. And the next, until he hit the back of the little notebook. It was made of flimsy cardboard and had a rough circle pressed in to it too. Sniper flipped the sketchbook closed and tossed it aside. There was another one under his seat somewhere with plenty of blank pages, but Sniper didn't feel like drawing anymore.

He glared off at nothing at all until the smoke from his incense burner caught his eye. He always set some incense to smoulder when he returned to his van in the evenings. There'd been complaints over the years that the vehicle smelt, so he did his best to try and fix that. It had helped him finally quit smoking as well. It had done nothing for the nicotine cravings, but it had given him a legitimate excuse to use a lighter. There was just something that he found soothing about the little 'skitch' sound the wheel made and something really satisfying about bringing a flame to life with the flick of a thumb.

Of course, he'd only decided to quit in the first place because Michelle had wanted him to. It would have been so easy to pick the habit back up in prison, but he'd resisted the pressure to. Maybe one day Sniper would ask Spy if he could scrounge a cigarette off him, just to see if he could still smoke without coughing. Except, smoking reminded him of the enemy Spy now. He didn't want to have anything to do with things that reminded him of that man.

And just like that, his thoughts were dragged right back to the masked BLU, as they so often were these days. He frowned at the incense burner as he tried to work out a way to put into thoughts something that had been bothering him. Every time Sniper had tried to work it out properly, the idea had slipped away from him and he'd ended up distracted by all the other horrible things about the situation. But now the thoughts were hanging around at the edges of his mind, waiting to be pulled in and pieced together.

The thing that bothered him so much about the Spy's attacks...

Beyond the pain.

And the humiliation.

And the failures.

And the cruelty...

The thing that really, really bothered him, that soured every thought and left a heavy, twisted weight in his gut...

Was the intimacy of it, wasn't it?

Sniper wouldn't ever admit it to anyone, and he had trouble even admitting it to himself, but he was lonely. He'd gone straight from having a close-knit group of friends and a fiancée who he lived with and adored, to prison. In prison, no form of contact was good contact. He'd gone three years without so much as a friendly handshake and now he was trapped on a base with just eight other mercenaries. Sniper hated how such a tiny little thing as a casual pat on the back from Medic meant to him. He was a grown man for Christ's sake, not a neglected puppy! But telling himself to man-up did nothing to stop him from feeling starved for positive contact of any kind. It wasn't even a sexual thing, though he wouldn't say no to that either. It was something much more basic, much more innocent. Sniper had read once that people needed physical contact of some kind every day to keep their minds healthy. He didn't think much of the theory, but somehow the thought had stayed with him all the same.

Then along came the enemy Spy, who went out of his way to touch Sniper as much as he could. And it was always horrible. It was the epitome of 'careful what you wish for'. The Spy took intimate gestures, like a gentle touch to the throat, or a stroke down the spine, or a _kiss_ and weaponised them, turning them into something to be feared. It made Sniper nauseous just thinking about it.

Sniper hated how much it got to him. The Spy probably didn't even realise why it bothered him so much. The BLU most likely assumed that Sniper hated it because he didn't want contact with another man, not because it was so close yet so far from being exactly what he craved. The fact that the Spy was a man really didn't make much of a difference either way, though admittedly Sniper might have found the same behaviour a little less intimidating, if not any less creepy, if it had come from a woman. The marksman had known he could be attracted to other men ever since he'd been thirteen years old. He'd had an awkward crush on his young geography teacher, Mr Trent, that had taken years to fade away entirely. Others had followed after that.

Though he wasn't attracted to any of his team mates, if one made it clear to Sniper that they were interested in him, the Australian knew he'd be quick to return their affections. He was just that desperate and lonely. But instead it was the enemy Spy who was all over him. Sniper had never been very good at reading people, so he couldn't be sure, but he felt as though there was some kind of weird _tension_ to their fights that he really didn't want to think about any further. It certainly wasn't something he could return, if in fact, it was there at all.

It worried Sniper though. It really worried him, but he had no one to talk to about it. How could he even begin to explain to anyone that he suspected backstabbing and stalking might be the enemy Spy's way of saying, 'I'm interested in you'?

Sniper decided to do the only thing he could do, and ignore the situation entirely. He felt the itch to draw something again. He wasn't sure what but after getting stuck on those thoughts it had better be something manly. All blood and guts and explosions, most likely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are interested in previews, hints or heads up about when the next chapter is about to be released, they pop up often on my tumblr blog, IloveTeamFortressToo.


	21. The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you has to go to [Astabeta](http://astabeta.tumblr.com/) for stepping in and proofreading this chapter for me while the boyfriend is away in a field somewhere, doing fieldy stuff.
> 
> Art by [Leoleoteterev!](http://leoleoteterev.tumblr.com/post/158236925970/%D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%B2%D1%8B%D0%B9-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D1%82-%D0%BF%D0%BE-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D1%84%D0%B8%D0%BA%D1%83-foe-yay-%D0%BA%D0%BE%D1%82%D0%BE%D1%80%D1%8B%D0%B9-%D0%BF%D0%B8%D1%88%D0%B5%D1%82) (Click for rebloggable version.)

The next night, Sniper's time finally ran out.

It was his turn to do the cooking. He had ingredients scattered all over the kitchen counter, and a recipe book propped up against the wall using a salt shaker and a ketchup bottle. The book was extremely battered and stained, but Sniper had managed to find a legible page.

Normally, if he cooked for himself he'd just throw anything in together that sounded like it would work and hope for the best. That's partially what he was aiming for here too, but the problem was just how much of everything to use. He was used to cooking for one or two people, not nine. And these weren't normal people, they were hungry mercenaries. The recipes were all for meals that were intended to serve four. Sniper decided to triple the amounts listed, just in case. It was better to have some leftovers than to leave his teammates wanting more.

Twenty minutes later, Sniper finally had twelve chicken breasts with lemon slices wrapped up in tin foil and shoved in the oven, along with two huge pots of rice on the go. He was feeling rather frazzled. It was hard to cook a meal when you didn't have a clue where things were kept. He tracked down a small vegetable knife and set about tackling the rest of the vegetables.

He was so engrossed in the job that he didn't notice when someone else entered the room.

'What the fuck, man? You crying?'

Sniper jumped, almost dropping the knife.

'What? No! These are just really powerful onions, that's all.' He sniffed and rubbed the crook of his arm against his face, eyes still watering under his aviators.

Scout came over and peered down at the offending vegetables.

'You're not even doing it right.'

Sniper gritted his teeth, annoyance flaring up in his chest. The Scout was, what, ten years younger than him? And he thought Sniper didn't even know how to chop up some bloody onions?

But there was something else lurking beneath his irritation, something that he hated about himself but couldn't avoid.

The need to fit in. The desire to be liked. The desperation for the approval of someone who had already dismissed him. Years of being the independent loner came crashing down the moment anyone made it clear that he wasn't worth their time.

Sniper could trace it right back to the school playground. He'd been the lanky little scruffily-dressed kid with the weird eyes who was behind in all subjects but art. Of course his every attempt to engage with the cool kids had failed miserably. There had been a couple he thought he was friends with, but then Susie McEvoy from the year above had taken him aside one day and told him they were just pretending to like him because it amused their mates. At some point Susie McEvoy's had decided that it was her responsibility to point out things like that that he missed. He never could work out whether he should feel thankful towards her, or resentful.

So he bit back a scathing retort and tried to sound good-naturedly interested when he said, 'Yeah?'

'Yeah. First, don't use that knife, it's shit. Use one of these bigger ones.' He pulled two out of the knife block and dumped them on the counter, and grabbed a clean chopping board.

'If they're strong onions like these, you're best chopping them on top of an oven 'cos you can just flick on the extractor fan and it gets rid of most of whatever it is that makes your eyes water.'

'Fumes?'

'Yeah, probably. Then you chop off the top and bottom like this. Most of the fumey stuff is in the bottom section so you can just cut a chunk of that away as long as you've got enough onions. Then don't just start hacking away at them like that, you gotta cut them in half. Leaves you with a couple of flat surfaces you can put on the board, see? Then you slice 'em up fine going one way. Doesn't matter if it's a bit uneven. Then you turn 'em sideways like this and chop back across. Look, that leaves everything all diced up properly. Then you can do the bit you were trying before.'

Scout placed the heel of one palm on the top of the knife, right near the end. Using that as an axis, he moved the knife in a semi-circle across the board, bringing it down again and again on top of the onions as he went.

'Look, all nice and neat and no tears, right?'

Okay, so maybe the kid _did_ know something about chopping up onions.

'Uh, right, yeah. That seems a sensible way of doing it.'

'And if you've got a bit of extra time, leaving them in the fridge or freezer for a bit beforehand helps with the eye stinging thing too.'

Sniper nodded. His mum had taught him that trick a long time ago.

Scout eyed the rest of the vegetables waiting to be prepared. 'You know how to cut up a pepper properly?'

'Probably not,' Sniper replied, trying to keep bitterness from slipping into his voice.

'None of the others did either, 'cept Medic and Spy. And our last Snipes. He knew, like, everything though.

'Look, so with peppers, after you've cut around the stem and popped it out and then sliced it into thirds, you should cut the rest of it up from the inside. Everyone always turns them over and cuts 'em up from the outside but the skins tougher than the flesh so you're just making extra work for yourself. If you slice it into strips from the inside like this, it's much easier. Then you can just cut the slices into little chunks—it was chunks you wanted right? Yeah? Good thing too, 'cos chunks is what you're getting.'

Sniper copied Scout, and to his annoyance, found that the boy was right about how much easier it was. Quicker too.

The two of them set about preparing the rest of the vegetables. Sniper had expected his younger teammate to leave as soon as he'd finished showing off that he was better than Sniper at something, but he stuck around.

Wanting to even the playing field a little, Sniper asked, 'You know how to skin and gut animals too?'

'Oh yeah, our old Snipes showed me.' Scout wrinkled his nose. 'Kind of gross really.'

'You see people getting their guts blown halfway across the map every day,' the marksman pointed out.

'Well yeah, but I don't go sticking my fingers in it, do I?'

'No, that's Medic's job.'

To Sniper’s surprise, Scout actually laughed. A little knot of tension in his stomach began to ease.

'So, you uh, got on well with the last Sniper?'

'Yeah.' Scout frowned down at the pepper he was slicing up.

'What was he like?'

'He was cool.' Scout stopped moving, the knife resting against the board. It was stained a watery red from pepper juice. Sniper thought he'd ruined everything, but then Scout started talking again.

'He was real cool. He knew, like, everything there was to know about hunting and tracking and fighting and just life, you know? He was always telling me stories about the crazy shit he got up to when he was younger, and showing me how to do stuff. Like he taught me how to sharpen knives properly and how to do woodwork and he even let me have a go with his rifle and everything. We went hunting in the woods a couple of times and damn, he was such a fucking awesome shot! Like there'd be this deer like miles away and I wouldn't even see it and then a moment later it'd be dead, just like that! And he showed me how to skin 'em and it was just the grossest thing ever, you know? But it was cool all the same. And he'd always share his beers with me even though the others make a big fuss about it, which is stupid ‘cos I'm twenty and I kill people for a living, why shouldn't I have a beer?'

Scout continued to ramble on about the previous RED Sniper until all the peppers and onions and Sniper's confidence were cut down to size. It might have left him feeling like a rather inferior replacement for his predecessor, but it was nice to have the kid talking to him instead of making snarky remarks about him. When Scout finally stopped, Sniper jokingly asked, 'Any tips for green beans?'

'Eh, just remember to wash 'em, and if you line a few up together you can just top-and-tail 'em all at once, that's all.'

Nothing Sniper didn't know, but he nodded an acknowledgement anyway. Then he asked a question he'd been wondering about for a while.

'What, uh, actually happened to the last Sniper? All I know is that there was some kind of respawn glitch that meant he couldn't do his job anymore.'

It was a few moments before Scout answered, his head bowed over the chopping board. He didn't look around at Sniper at all as he spoke.

'Yeah, there was a respawn glitch. A fucking stupid respawn glitch. Snipes should have been fine. He should have come back through and straight after that asshole Spy. Instead he just collapsed on the floor in respawn.. I tried to help him but he couldn’t get back up. That sick freak had done all kinds of things to his legs. Kept him alive for ages. Respawn should have fixed him right up still but there was some kind of power issue. If respawn goes down properly there's a back-up to catch us but this was just a tiny little power surge that fucked stuff up for like a second. But it happened at just the wrong time. It glitched and Snipes came through with permanently fucked up legs.

'It's fucking unfair. The Spy hardly ever did that kind of thing to him. Just stuck with backstabs most of the time, you know? And that's even if he could get anywhere near 'cos Snipes had really good hearing and got him most of the time.

‘But that BLU fucker does this thing. I dunno if anyone's told you about it. He likes to kind of pick on one person for a while and kill them as often as he can. And for some reason—I dunno why—he'd been after me for a while. Snipe's didn't like that, and went gunning for the Spy to give him a taste of his own medicine. Got so many dominations on him, it was great. But then one day the Spy jumped him. Engineer says there's no way he could of caused the respawn glitch as well, but I dunno man. Either way, it happened and suddenly Snipes couldn’t walk anymore. So they fired him and then we ended-up with you instead.'

'Sorry,' Sniper said.

Scout sighed. 'Nah man, not your fault.'

'Still sorry to hear what happened to your mate. That BLU Spy is a right bastard.'

'Fuck, yeah, he is.'

Sniper opened his mouth, and was just about to tell Scout about the problems he'd been having with the man, when a wave of shame rolled over him, choking him. No. He couldn't tell anybody about that. Sniper knew the Spy's actions weren't in any way his fault, but there was still a part of him that couldn't stand to admit any of it to another person.

The two of them stayed silent the rest of the time it took to prep the final few vegetables, both lost in their own thoughts. Then Scout went to the fridge to grab a can of Bonk- his actual reason for coming into the kitchen in the first place- and left Sniper to do the rest of the cooking.

One by one the rest of the team traipsed into the kitchen, hopeful looks on their faces. Sniper had to keep telling them 'another five minutes,' 'just a little while,' and 'not much longer.'

At last dinner was ready and Engineer took over serving duties.

Looking around the room, Sniper noticed there was one person missing. 'Hey, does anyone know where Spy is? He doesn't think I'm going to be that bad a cook, does he?'

'Nah, mate,' Demoman said with a grin. 'I bumped into him earlier and he said to give you an apology from him 'cos he might be a bit late tonight.'

'What's the frog up to now?' Scout asked.

Demoman shrugged. 'He didn't say. Spy stuff I guess.'

  


The RED Spy leant against against a drab grey wall and waited. He was trying to appear nonchalant but inside he was feeling irritated. This always happened. He made a point of being early to meetings because it was the professional thing to do. So of course, _he_ always made a point of being late. Petty bastard.

Seventeen minutes after the agreed time, the BLU Spy finally arrived. He was smoking a cigarette and looking bored, as though he hadn't replied to the RED's message almost as soon as he'd sent it, or scheduled their meeting for the very next night.

The floodlights from the distant bridge cast half of the BLU Spy's face into stark shadow, the tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness.

'Evening,' Spy said shortly.

His counterpart smirked. 'I think you mean morning, Antoine.'

'Technically,' he replied stiffly. The odd hours at Double Cross meant that what felt like evening to them was actually early morning. And of course the connard had used his real name. The RED Spy could never do something so unprofessional himself. And of course, the BLU knew that.

'I don’t see the file. Where is it?'

Ah. It hadn't taken him long to pick up on that.

'I wasn't able to bring it with me,' Spy admitted.

'Did you at least take the time to make a copy?'

'No. You didn't give me long enough.'

'Oh. What a pity. I would have thought you could have at least managed that. Oh well, if we have no further business...'

'I memorised it. I can still give you all the information.'

'Hmm. But that wasn't what we agreed. You promised me you'd bring the file. You have not. I see no reason to uphold my end of the bargain if you can't be bothered to hold up yours.'

'It's all in here,' the RED Spy argued, tapping the side of his head. 'It wasn't a very large file.

The BLU narrowed his cold eyes, and sighed.

'Very well. You tell me the information and I'll decide whether or not it's worth it.'

'That's not what we agreed!'

'No, it's not.' He left the words hanging there. An icy silence fell between them, the taller BLU standing with his arms crossed, and eyebrows raised.

'His name's Nathaniel Mundy. Born the thirty first of March, 1944 to a George and Henrietta Mundy in a town called Hawker.'

The BLU Spy kept his face blank as he memorised the details. Nathaniel. That was what Nat was short for. And he was thirty one years old, a little younger than the Spy would have guessed.

'He grew up in the South Australian outback, near Flinders Ranges National Park. He appears to have done poorly at school but the file claims he went on to do the first year of a scholarship in Fine Arts,'

He sounded so sceptical that the BLU couldn't help interrupt, 'But of course. He is after all, quite the fine artist.'

The RED tried to hide the look of surprise that flickered across his face. The BLU's smirked. It had been worth giving away that little piece of information just for that reaction.

The RED Spy opened his mouth to continue when his counterpart waved a hand at him dismissively. 'Just tell me something interesting, will you?'

In reality, it was all very interesting, but it was just too satisfying to wrong-foot Antoine.

'Ah well, there's his psychiatric report of course, but it's not exactly reliable. It lists him as having a borderline developmental disorder but I don't think that’s actually a thing that exists.'

 _Oh great,_ the BLU Spy thought to himself, _I have a thing for a mental retard._

Then he took a moment to consider that. No, of course he didn't have 'a thing' for the enemy Sniper. Where had that even come from? He was just here to collect more information that could be useful to him and his team. He felt nothing but disdain and contempt for the RED Sniper. Those feelings were easy to identify, but he refused to go digging any deeper to see what other emotions he could find.

'Then there's the usual stuff of course,' the RED continued, 'suspected personality disorder. Suspected psychopathic tendencies. Suspected empathy disorder. Nothing new there.'

Their employers seemed to think very little of the mercenaries and would accept any labels slapped on them by their half-rate psychologist. They never seemed to notice that she had a habit of putting almost the exact same things on everyone's reports. Maybe they just expected all mercenaries to be lacking in the empathy departments. Who knows what gave them that idea? Or maybe they just never bothered reading the reports.

BLU Spy himself really hadn't got on with the woman at all. That was what he blamed for the insultingly long list of conditions he'd been labelled with. Him, a narcissist? Of course not!

The only times the psychological evaluations were useful was when they included past reports by real doctors. That was how he'd found out about the enemy Medic's paranoid tendencies, after all.

'What else was on his file?'

'Blood type O. Moved to America when he was twenty-one. Lived in California for a while. Got into the mercenary business at nineteen, and stopped at about twenty-six. Uh, he's single. No children mentioned. Few relatives, none in the USA. Doesn't know any other languages. Has scars on his torso from a crocodile bite and one from a bullet wound to the leg.'

The RED Spy paused, trying to remember what else was mentioned in the folder.

'Not allergic to anything. Visited Britain during his childhood, and Belgium and Canada later on, most likely for assassination jobs.'

The BLU stored each piece of information away in his head. It was really annoying not having the actual file in front of him though. He missed the days when they'd been easy to steal. Now the Administrator kept a close eye on all of them.

'Does it say why he only completed one year of his scholarship?'

The RED Spy hesitated. The BLU zeroed in on him immediately.

'You agreed to tell me everything.'

'Yes. It's a bit vague, but it seems he left due to rumours about a relationship with a fellow student.'

'Sounds unlikely. Isn't that half the reason teenagers go off to college or university in the first place?'

'It was a male student.'

RED Spy felt awful. He might have given a good number of details away about the Sniper already, but this was the first one that his enemy had properly reacted to. Just for a moment, the BLU Spy's eyes widened and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Maybe this deal had been a mistake after all.

'Anything else? How long did he sign up for?'

'Ten years. He's on Contract Zero.'

This time the BLU didn't even try and hide it, he smiled widely, a terrible gleam in his eyes.

'Contract Zero, you say? Now that is a surprise.'

It shouldn't have been. The Sniper was a foreign, and most likely, below-average intelligence, mercenary. Just the type that Mann.Co would go for. The BLU Spy hadn't met many men on Contract Zero, but he knew all about it. They'd find someone in prison with the skills they wanted and use their contacts within the industry to get a little something changed. Namely, their sentence from whatever it had been before, to the death penalty. The privatisation of the American prison system had made that easy.

Even the most stubborn man will agree to work for you if the alternative is death. Of course, they wouldn't want the mercenary to know that it was their fault the sentence was illegally changed. That kind of thing can lead to a little bit of ill-feeling from time to time. Much better to make them think they were being rescued. It made them so much more compliant and willing to throw away ten years of their lives.

The BLU Spy wondered how much trouble the Sniper must have got in to for killing him out of hours. They wouldn't have let him off easily. Mann.Co liked to keep a tight leash on their property. And that's just what the RED Sniper was, wasn't it? Not a valued and respectable employee like him, just property. This was better news than he could possibly have hoped for.

'Anything else?'

'No, that's everything,' the RED Spy lied.

The BLU nodded vaguely, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to argue.

'Well then, I will agree to “act professionally” as you put it, for let’s see... a month.'

'Three months, we agreed!'

'Yes, but as I have already reminded you, you failed to live up to your side of the deal. I don't owe you anything.’

'But I gave you all the information.' The RED was trying to hide his panic now. He'd given away so much about the Sniper and got so little in return. 'Why not two months?'

'Two months of just backstabs would be far too dull.'

'I don't see why. That's what you're hired to do after all!'

'Can't I mix a little entertainment in with work though?' the BLU asked, smirking again. It was so much fun to rile up his counterpart.

'It's unprofessional.'

The BLU Spy sighed. 'How about a month and a half then?'

'All right,' he agreed stiffly, 'a month and a half of nothing but clean backstabs and no targeting him more than the rest of the team.'

'Nothing but the cleanest of backstabs,' the BLU promised. 'And no targeting,' he lied.

They reluctantly shook hands with each other to close the deal, and went their separate ways.

  


The RED Spy refused to glance back over his shoulder to check the BLU wasn't following him, but he listened carefully for the sound of footsteps all the same. He did not trust the BLU Spy.

How he hated that man. So smug and self-satisfied and unprofessional. Antoine had no idea how he could have once admired him so much.

He tried not to be too harsh on his younger self. Everyone made mistakes. But all the same, he felt a twist of deep self-loathing towards his teenage self.

He'd always been so impressed by the confident and charismatic boy in the year above. The BLU Spy had been popular and talented and handsome and dangerous, everything the RED wanted to be. He'd never bothered hiding his admiration and always pretended he didn't mind the put-downs he got in return.

Now, the memories burned. He didn’t regret attending the boarding school that was far more than it pretended to be. But he did regret ever looking up to the man who'd one day be his enemy. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if it wasn't for the gloating looks the BLU always gave him. Clearly, he remembered those days too.

  


Spy bumped into Sniper on his way back into the base.

'Ah, there you are, Spy!'

'Have I missed dinner?'

'Ah, yeah, sorry. But I made more than we needed so there's plenty leftover. I put it all in the fridge. I'm afraid I put too much lemon on the chicken, it tastes kind of metallic. Like eating a fork really. The others said they thought it was fine but I think they were just being polite.'

'Even Scout?'

'Yeah, actually. Maybe the chicken wasn't as bad as I thought. Where you been, anyway?'

'Oh, just doing spy stuff.'

Sniper snorted. 'Fair enough, then.'

He began to walk away when Spy called out to him.

'Wait, Sniper! Look, I've managed to get the BLU Spy to agree to start acting a bit more professionally. He’s promised just to stick to normal backstabs for the next month and a half, no funny business allowed. You tell me if he breaks that promise, all right?'

'Oh,' said the Sniper in surprise. 'Um, good. Thank you.'

Spy nodded to him and left before he could ask how he'd managed it. How could Spy explain it in a way that Sniper would accept?

_'So I gave away nearly all the private information listed on your file to the man who seems creepily obsessed with you. Also, I kind of told to him you might be a bit of a queer, but hey, at least I didn't tell him you went to prison for murdering your fiancée!'_

Perhaps not.


	22. Remaining Professional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there was a bit more of a gap between chapters than there has been for a while. I've written a handful of other one-shots and little TF2 fics recently, and my MA's also been piling more pressure on. Though it might not work out that way, I'm going to aim for shorter chapters so that I can hopefully update more regularly. Most of these more recent ones have crept up past 4k words each and as I'm a fairly slow writer, they've been taking me hours to complete. I'm going to aim for 2.5-3kish as often as I can, I think.

Despite Spy's assurances from the night before, Sniper remained tense throughout Wednesday's match. For one thing, he didn't trust the enemy Spy to keep to his word. For another, he still had to watch out for backstabs. It wasn't as though that snake had agreed to stop killing Sniper altogether, he'd just promised to stop doing it in a less professional manner.

The marksman couldn't help but wonder how Spy had managed to make a deal with his counterpart in the first place, but he decided to keep his curiosity to himself. Spies seemed to enjoy hoarding secrets, like skinny little French dragons.

Over dinner, Sniper found himself accidentally getting drawn into the RED team's favourite pastime.

Bickering.

If competitive arguing had been an Olympic sport, RED team would have all been champions at it.

One of the most common subjects for disagreement was the English language. Sometimes this involved the non-native speakers pointing out its flaws and draw-backs. Somehow Spy and Engineer managed to find a way to bicker over the fact that in English there was no word for 'a slice of bread,' for half an hour, before moving on to whether or not the English was better than French because it had seven times as many words. Engineer argued that this made English a much richer and deeper language, while Spy was of the opinion that it just added unnecessary complicationsand that most English speakers probably didn't even know a tenth of those words, so what was the point?

Other times, the topic for discussion was American English versus British English. In this, Demoman had always been the only person to fight for the British English corner, on account of there previously being five US citizens on his team, and two foreigners who'd learnt to speak English from Americans. There was also Pyro, but most of the time it was difficult to tell what language they were speaking at all. Medic was convinced it was Spanish.

There'd only ever been one time before when Demoman had had an ally. That had been on the subject of aubergine versus eggplant and courgette versus zucchini, where Spy had taken his side on account of the British versions both being French. Demoman had then proceeded to immediately concede the point to the Americans. On account of the British versions being French.

But now at last, the Demoman had an ally in the form of an Australian. And as an added bonus, the new Heavy just stayed out of it all, meaning he had less opponents as well.

Though British and Australian English certainly weren't always the same, they had more in common than either did with American.

With Demoman's encouragement, Sniper helped him hold his ground on the biscuit versus cookie debate, as well as jelly versus jello and chips versus fries. However, they ended up with a three way argument on candy floss versus cotton candy when Sniper admitted that he'd always called it fairy floss. Demoman abandoned ship on that argument and left the marksman to quickly surrender to the Americans. In revenge, Sniper sided with pants on the trousers versus pants argument.

The conversation led to Sniper admitting that he'd learnt the hard way not to call erasers, 'rubbers' once he moved to the USA. He'd shed a good number of Australian words and phrases over the years to help people understand him better, but none so quickly as that one. The mortifying misunderstanding that came from him asking a room full of new acquaintances if any of them had a rubber on them when he'd made a mistake with something he was sketching had seen to that.

By the end of Wednesday's dinner Sniper was feeling drained socially, but there was a smile on his face. He was pretty sure he'd managed to go an evening without saying anything _too_ stupid, and if the enthusiasm Demoman greeted him with the next morning was anything to go by, it appeared he might have made a friend.

  
  


Though he still spent an unproductive amount of time glancing over his shoulder on Thursday, Sniper found his concentration improving. There was something just so incredibly satisfying about landing successful headshot after headshot. Each one took careful timing and preparation but man was it worth it. Sniper actually found himself whistling jauntily at one point, though that little tune was cut short by a stab to the back.

It was horribly jolting to be happily sniping away one moment and then standing in the resupply the next, with just an echo of the memory of pain. Every time it took him an annoyingly long time to settle back into his job, but at least none of the deaths were exactly traumatic.

After the round ended, Sniper eagerly snatched up his score card the moment the whirring machine pushed it out. He'd died eleven times that match and managed to get twenty four kills and eight assists. That was by far his best score yet. It appeared that six of those deaths had been down to the enemy Spy, but every last one of them had been clean backstabs just like he'd promised.

That evening it was Pyro's turn to cook. Sniper wasn't exactly sure what you'd try and call the odd mixture of food they produced, but it seemed to be vaguely Mexican themed.

And incredibly spicy.

It turned out Pyro liked other hot things apart from fire.

No one warned Sniper about this and he was soon red-faced and sniffling and resigned to eating nothing but rice for the rest of the meal. Though unfortunately, the rice was pretty spicy too.

Soldier and Scout were having a competition over who could stuff the most chilli in their mouths in the shortest time possible. Despite evidence to the contrary, Scout was adamant that he was _not_ crying. He also said that Soldier was probably the one crying, they just couldn't tell because of his helmet.

Heavy and Medic were tucking in without complaint, and out of all of them it seemed that Demoman was the one suffering the most.

'You know,' said Engineer, 'that's kind of surprising on account of you being—'

There was a long, awkward pause.

'English,' Demoman reminded him. Medic quickly moved the topic of conversation on to the weather.

  
  


Sniper spent most of the time before the match hiding in his van on Friday. This was on account of the fact that there were strangers at the base. Talking to new people was right near the top of a long list of things that made Sniper uncomfortable. So he was staying well out of their way, even if they were just the cleaning ladies.

Scout had told him earlier that week that once every two weeks a small gang of angry, middle-ages ladies would descend on the base and scrub everything but the bedrooms from top to bottom. Sniper had asked why Spy forced them all to stick to such a strict cleaning regime if they got professionals in to do it anyway. Scout explained that that was exactly why they did it.

'Those old ladies are terrifying, I tell you. Even Soldier doesn't shout at them and he shouts at _everyone_. They hate all of us, you can just see it in their eyes. The only person they like is Spy and that's 'cos he flirts with them.'

'I do not _flirt_ with the cleaning staff,' Spy replied without looking up from a catalogue dedicated entirely to butterfly knives.

'Oh yeah, then what do you call it when you're all chatty and smiley and they actually smile back at you and stuff?'

'I call it being polite, Scout. You might want to try it sometime.'

Sniper had decided he probably wasn't up to the task himself, so he stayed in his van and kept twitching the curtains aside to peer out until he finally saw the middle-aged ladies all trooping out and driving off.

He wondered if they'd all had to sign some kind of agreement to keep what they saw in the base secret, or if they regularly moaned to their families about what a mess those nine professional killers always managed to make.

  
  


Maybe it was the topic of cleaning that made him pay more attention to the signs of the old sniper on the battlefield. He'd seen them all before of course, but he'd never really taken the time to piece everything together. The cigarette butts, broken glass, old bullet shells and carved notches in the walls were all just background details he didn't need to pay attention to. But he found them in all the best sniping spots.

It made him feel like an intruder. A usurper. He ran his fingertips down the impressive collection of tally marks etched into the wood in one nest and didn't feel like the Sniper at all. He just felt like Nathaniel 'Nath' Mundy playing at being a professional sharpshooter.

His score wasn't nearly as good on Friday as it had been on Thursday.

RED Team ended up losing that day, which was why Sniper was hiding in the rafters of one of the larger buildings on the RED side of the map, safe from the marauding BLUs below.

Or at least, he was safe as long as none of them thought to look up. He held his breath as the BLU Demoman ran across the room below him, hollering insults and lobbing sticky bombs at the retreating RED Engineer.

The humiliation rounds always went on too long for Sniper, whether they were two minutes long or twenty. He considered getting himself killed just to end the tedious, anxious, uncomfortable boredom of it all but decided that it was the principle of the thing. This was called a _humiliation_ round after all. He didn't want to give any BLUs the satisfaction of killing him now.

Sniper's gaze travelled idly over the dimly lit room as he waited for the round to finish and drag him back through respawn alive.

He glanced over his shoulder.

And nearly had a heart attack.

There was a silhouetted figure crouched right behind him.

The noise Sniper made was somewhere between a choked gasp and a scream. Instinctively, he flung himself away from the lurking shape. Unfortunately the beam he was on was a particularly thin one. He gave another odd cry of surprise and snatched at a support beam but missed entirely.

Seven minutes later he woke up in respawn with a lurching sensation momentarily trapped in his gut.

He glared at the last death on his report card. It simply said, 'Sniper fell to his death.' There was no mention of who had caused it, but the Sniper knew. He'd gone and told the enemy Spy that he liked to hide in the rafters, hadn't he? He'd said it when the Spy was disguised as the RED Medic. And obviously the masked man wanted to remind him of his little mistake.

Sniper considered telling the RED Spy that his counterpart had already broken their agreement, before realising how clever the snake had been. He hadn't broken the agreement, not technically. There was no mention of him on the scorecard because he hadn't actually laid a finger on Sniper at all. It was the marksman losing his balance that had led to his death, not the Spy's actions. He just happened to have been in very close proximity to Sniper at the time. He wondered how long the Spy had been there. Could have been ages if he'd started off cloaked. And then he'd uncloaked with the intentions of scaring Sniper to death. And now marksman's trick for escaping humiliation rounds alive had been found out. He wondered if the Spy knew how miserable the thought made him. He suspected so.

  
  


In fact, the Spy knew a great deal of things about the Sniper. As well as the recent information the RED Spy had been nice enough to give him, he'd been further observing the sharpshooter in his natural habitat. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to pick up on something that was significant. Well, to a spy at least.

The Sniper didn't use jarate. Not once had he flung a disgusting jar full of bodily fluids in any direction, let alone at the Spy. It was wonderful. Just wonderful. The Spy even caught himself thinking, 'I knew there was a reason I liked this Sniper,' before realising what he'd just thought and angrily correcting that to, 'I knew there was just one thing I liked about this Sniper.'

Apart from that, his long periods of quiet, cloaked observation had only revealed little, unimportant things. All the same, the Spy stored every tic and habit away in his mind with utmost care. Like the way the Sniper whistled to himself when he was happily getting on with his work, or how he'd frown and bite his bottom lip when trying to line up a tricky shot. The Spy's favourite idiosyncrasy of all those he'd found out was that despite being a large, lanky man, when the Sniper sneezed it was an amusingly tiny little sound. The Spy almost got himself caught laughing at it when he realised how much it reminded him of a small animal like a puppy or a cat sneezing. Only a well-timed rocket going off nearby had saved him from the Sniper hearing.

As much as he enjoyed spying on the oblivious man, it was rather dull not being able to take full advantage of the situation. He had a couple of interesting murders lined up that he desperately wanted to commit. One involved bringing a little extra something onto the battlefield with him. He patted his jacket pocket. Such a fun little tool, and easy to smuggle about too. The Spy was sure it must have been registered with respawn for it to keep appearing on him after he died, but so far the Administrator had stayed quiet on the subject. That was very promising.

Since he couldn't do anything with it yet though, the Spy concentrated on trying to make each backstab on the Sniper as consistent as possible. He aimed for the same spot each time, and though he wasn't exactly on target a hundred percent of the time, he was never far off. The Spy wondered how long he'd have to wait before he could try and test out a little theory of his.

A month and a half, perhaps? He didn't have to remain professional forever, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to writing the next chapter and for once it isn't because something horrible happens to Sniper, I promise!


	23. In Vino Veritas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art done by [Alyce/Zeniart](http://zeniart.tumblr.com/post/149809592086/commission-1-of-2-for-iloveteamfortresstoo)

 

Sniper was just in the middle of drawing the eye of a stag when there was a knock on his van door. He jolted, sending a pen line streaking across the deer's face.

'Yo, Sniper, you in there?'

Sniper made his way over to the door and opened it a crack. He kept the interior of his van out of sight from the rest of his team as best he could, on account of the blue upholstery.

'Uh, yeah,' he said, 'I'm in.'

He hadn't talked to Scout alone since the runner had helped him cook dinner two weeks ago and wasn't sure where they stood with one another. Scout seemed to have backed off from him a bit. There were still jokes at Sniper's expense of course, but as far as he could tell it was no worse than what the rest of the team had to put up with.

'Okay so you know Demoman got all those crates and stuff on Thursday?'

Sniper nodded.

'Well, that's 'cos his family sends him like fucktonnes of alcohol every few months. And since we won this week, he says we should celebrate with it.'

After a quiet weekend in which Sniper had mercifully seen nothing of either bears or BLUs, the RED team had gone on to win three out of five of the matches that week. Sniper himself had beaten his last top score on the Tuesday, though he had suffered a couple of especially unpleasant deaths that day too. It turns out that getting hacked at by drunk attempting to decapitate you was not an enjoyable experience.

'Well I, uh, I wouldn't have anything to contribute,' Sniper said. It was still two or so months before he'd be allowed off-base to go restock his supplies.

'Pth. Seriously man, not a problem. Spy brought his own wine with him once and the next time there was like three crates full of some fancy red wine that even he couldn't turn his nose up at. Engie used to try bringing his own beer too, but Demo would always give him the stink-eye and I think he's just given up these days. Seriously though, Demo's family send him like everything alcoholic in the world. And apparently the only catch is he _has_ to share it with the rest of the team. How great is that?'

'Huh,' Sniper said in return. It was an impressed “huh”. Though he was still loath to take what was offered when he had nothing to give in return, the idea of a good booze-up was a very appealing one.

'Plus we can get Spy drunk!'

'Huh?'

'That's what we always do. Drunk Spy is the best. He forgets he's supposed to be all mysterious and whatever and tells you loads of great stories about stuff that happened to him when he was younger.'

The marksman was immediately curious.

'So I'll tell him you're coming, right? I think it's straight after dinner. Pyro and Engie are messing with the fire pit so we can hang out outside.'

Sniper nodded and made a mental note to bring an extra jacket. The Spring evenings were getting warmer, but by the time they finished work each night it was already midnight and a bit too chilly for him.

 

It turned out it was also Demoman's turn to cook that evening. He made them all a full English breakfast. Every plate was piled high with bacon, sausages, toast, mushrooms, fried tomatoes, baked beans, fried eggs and hash browns. Demo bemoaned the apparent unavailability of black pudding in Colorado but Sniper wasn't sure he would have managed to fit anything more on to the plates anyway.

Scout complained about the meal on account of the fact that they weren't in England and it wasn't breakfast, though he had to admit he was soon very full. Medic disapproved of the food because of how unhealthy it was, and Spy agreed with both of them. The rest of the team were more than happy though, Sniper included.

'That was ace,' he told Demoman as he helped clear everything away afterwards. 'Just like my gran used to make.'

'Was she English?' Demo asked.

'Yup, though she spent most of her life in Australia. Skinniest little old woman you've ever seen. Outlived four husbands in all, I think. She's the one who first starting teaching me how to shoot, actually.'

'Oh, really?'

Demoman quickly came to regret showing a polite interest in Sniper's grandmother as the marksman continued to ramble on about her all through helping him move the crates outside and finishing setting things up. It was the most he'd ever heard Sniper say in one sitting. And he guessed it was nice to hear about someone who was close to their dear old gran. Both of his had been absolute witches.

It wasn't long before everything was ready; the fire was lit and Demo was cracking open the crates. A hopeful Scout hovered by his shoulder, quizzing him on their contents.

There was a _lot._ Sniper's eyes were getting rounder and rounder with each bottle or can that was brought out. They were going to need another table to hold it all. And to make sure Pyro didn't bring their flamethrower anywhere near this lot, or they'd blow the whole base up.

'Look Spy, look what I got!' Scout said, holding up a wine bottle. He sounded less like a mercenary offering a colleague a drink and more like an indulgent dog owner offering their pet a treat.

Spy rolled his eyes but took the wine off him anyway, 'I know what you're up to Scout, and don't you think for a minute that—oh.' He peered closer at the label. 'Ooh.'

'Meets your approval does it then?' Demo asked while pulling out an interesting looking selection of rum bottles.

'Oh yes,' Spy said without looking up.

Scout caught Sniper's eye and grinned at him from behind Spy's back.

'Hmm, cartons?' Demoman muttered to himself as he pulled the lid off the next box. 'I don't remember there being anything in cartons. Oh. Bee Sting.' He turned around. 'Hey, Scout! Here's something you might like. You know, if you were old enough to drink?'

'I am old enough!' Scout groused.

'No you're not,' Medic said cheerfully as he stopped by to inspect the table. 'Ooh, you've got that toffee vodka in again. Wonderful!'

'Look,' said Scout, 'I kill people for a living. You may have noticed that. I kill people. I get killed. Every day. That means that if I want to have a drink, I can. All right?'

'Nah,' Demo told him. 'You're much too young.'

Scout made and angry hissing noise through his teeth. 'I'm 20 and a half years old!'

'No one who add “and a half” onto their age is old enough to drink,' Medic told him.

Sniper looked between them all, feeling a little puzzled. 'But Demo,' he said, 'The drinking age in England is eighteen.'

'Ah, yes.'

'And what's the age requirement for where you're from, Medic?'

'Um. Well, _technically_ there isn't one in Denmark,' Medic admitted. 'You just have to be over sixteen to buy the more alcoholic stuff from stores, and over eighteen to get served in bars and restaurants.'

 _So that's where he's from,_ Sniper thought to himself as he watched Scout stare from Medic to Demoman and back in outraged shock.

'You—you assholes!'

Demoman started sniggering.

'We were only thinking of your health,' Medic said, in a voice that might have sounded sincere if it wasn't for the guilty grin spreading across his face.

'All this time! All this time you guys have been trying to stop me having a drink and—'

'Remember what you said earlier, Scout. We aren't in England—'

'Gah! Screw England!' Scout hefted up the carton of Bee Sting and hauled it off to the other side of the fire.

Sniper stared after him. 'Uh, sorry about that,' he said sheepishly. Demoman waved away his apology.

'It was fun while it lasted.'

Spotting Sniper's expression, Medic added, 'Scout's not really that upset, he's just enjoying being over-dramatic. We've never actually _stopped_ him from drinking, we've just made a bit of a fuss about pretending we thought he shouldn't. The last Sniper was always making a snog and dance of “sneaking” him drinks.'

'Song, Medic.' Demoman interjected.

'Sorry?'

'He was always making a _song_ and a dance of it. That's the phrase.'

'Oh. What did I say?'

They were interrupted by Heavy coming over to the table to discuss Demoman's family's taste in vodka. It appeared that it was not up to standard.

Sniper slipped away before he could get caught up in the argument. He sat himself down on the end of a broad log, next to the one camp chair they'd managed to find. Spy had commandeered it for himself and sat back in it with a glass of red wine hand, a cigarette in the other and a blissful expression on his face.

'Good wine?' Sniper asked.

'The best. Care for one?' Spy put his glass down carefully and reached for another tucked behind his chair.

'Oh, sure,' Sniper said. In all honesty, he wasn't much of a wine man. He tended to stick to beer and lager mostly, and then usually only the cheap stuff. But he accepted the glass from Spy all the same and allowed him to fill it to about halfway with red wine. He noticed that the bottle was almost empty already.

Sniper felt foolish, holding the delicate little glass in his big hands while across the other side of the fire, Engineer and Soldier were swigging from cans. But even he had to admit that it was a damned good wine.

It wasn't long before it was all gone and Spy offered him another. But Sniper pointed out that there was nothing left in the bottle and used that excuse to return to the table. He snatched up some more red wine for Spy and was just about to head back when he heard Demo laughing with Heavy over what had happened with Scout. He glanced over to see Scout glowering at them over the top of a pint glass filled with amber liquid.

'Hey, Demo? What did you actually give him?'

'Oh, just a perry cider. Bee Sting's really sweet stuff, I'm sure it'll go down well with him.'

'It certainly seems to be,' Sniper said. 'Good thing it's nothing very alcoholic, with the way he's chugging it.'

'Actually, Bee Sting's seven-point-five percent.'

'Crikey.'

'How much of it has he had to drink?'

'About seventy-five percent.'

'Oh well, there's always respawn,' Demoman said. 'And at least it's not scrumpy.'

'You know,' Sniper said thoughtfully. 'I'm not actually sure what that is. It's been bothering me for years.'

'Ah, scrumpy's just rough, high percentage cider. Usually still, and often home made. Sometimes it’s all right but most I've had's been awful, more like apple vinegar than anything else. And the pulp! Dear God, you have to strain the stuff through your teeth before you're even halfway down the bottle! I have no idea why Tavish is so obsessed with it.'

'Tavish?'

'Oops. I didn't mean to say that.' Demo sighed. 'That's my cousin, well, half-cousin. You know, BLU's Demoman.'

'Oh,' Sniper remembered Engineer telling him about that at one point, but he'd never actually heard their Demoman bring it up.

'Crazy bastard,' Demo said sadly. 'Not even sure what a Scot's doing with scrumpy in the first place. It's more of a West Country drink. Somerset and Devon and all that.'

Sniper didn't know anything about any of those places. He just made a vague agreeing noise, grabbed himself a lager and returned to Spy with his wine.

 

Things settled down as each merc found a drink and a seat and good company to enjoy them with. It wasn't long before Sniper was smiling happily to himself, a pleasant buzz filling the back of his head.

Sniper was a socially awkward person. He knew that. Always had been, always would be. But the minute he had enough alcohol in his system, all that anxiety seemed to unwind and fade away. He became happier, chattier, more prone to laughing. The whole world just seemed to be a more pleasant place for him and it felt, for a while at least, as though he might actually belong to some part of it.

Sniper put the back of a hands against a cheeks, noticing how the heat radiated them despite the cold night air. He was being careful though. Despite all the contraband that had made its way into the prison Sniper had been locked up in, he'd drank very little during his three years of incarceration. So he had no idea what his tolerance to alcohol was these days. A tipsy buzz was enjoyable; throwing-up everywhere and waking up the next morning with a splitting headache was not. So Sniper paced himself, and took frequent swigs from a bottle of water he'd brought out with him. If anyone asked, he was going to pretend it was vodka.

It seemed that no one else, except maybe Medic, were taking any precautions themselves.

Scout had ended up sharing the rest of the Bee Sting with Pyro, who'd managed to stick a straw through one of the filters in their mask. Both of them were now slumped down in front of the log they'd given up trying to sit on, giggling to themselves over something Sniper couldn't quite catch.

Demoman and Heavy were having a drinking contest, drunkenly egged on by Engineer and Soldier. It was hard to say who was winning, but they both seemed determined to drink their own weight in alcohol. Which probably put Heavy at an advantage.

Next to Sniper, Medic and Spy were having a lively discussion about French politics that went completely over Sniper's head. He didn't mind though. For once he was in the middle of a group of people and feeling entirely at ease.

 

It wasn't long though before Scout managed to badger Spy into telling them a story from his life before he joined the RED team. Everyone gravitated over to listen, with Heavy sitting right at the back and looking rather grumpy in a slightly unfocused way. He'd lost the drinking contest.

'So, the Duke thought to himself, “What else can I do to make myself look even more of a pompous idiot this evening?” and decided that his grand speech was missing one important thing,' Spy told them, waving his hands as he recalled the story to them. It was a good thing his wine glass was empty, or the rest of the team would have ended up covered in the stuff by now.

'And that thing was a horse. He rode this beautiful grey lusitano stallion right into the middle of the ballroom. The poor thing was rolling its eyes and flattening its ears back against its skull, but as long as it was making him the centre of attention, the Duke didn't care.

'So, he got everyone's attention. Silence fell across the ballroom. He opened his mouth to begin the speech, and then—' Spy started to laugh softly to himself, 'and then the horse lifted its tail and _farted_.'

To the eight drunken mercenaries listening in, this seemed like the most amusing thing in the world. Sniper laughed the loudest of them all. He'd grown up with horses and knew exactly how loud a sound that could be, and how long it could go on for.

'And, and, then the silence just continued. No one said anything. No one dared laugh. And there was the Duke, looking even more like a ripe tomato than ever. He opened his mouth for a second attempt—and the horse did it again! It just went on and on. I'd never had to try harder to stop myself from laughing in my life. If I had done, his thugs would have thrown me out of the party if I was lucky, or shot me if I wasn't.

'So he tried one more time and got just far as outlining his intentions towards the crown when the nervous horse lifted its tail once more and just—just went right there. On the spot. You could hear every bit of dung hit the ballroom room floor. It _echoed.'_

Scout was rolling on the floor laughing, partly because of that image, and partly because of the wide-eyed, dramatic expression on Spy's face.

'The Duke was so embarrassed he threw himself off the horse, shoved the reigns into one of the waiters’ hands and demanded that I clean up the mess. I almost said, “Who do you think I am, some kind of servant?” until I remembered that, yes, that's exactly who he thought I was. But I told him that I had no idea where I'd find the needed supplies—which was true— and he dragged me off, muttering about incompetent staff. I think he was just using it as an excuse to get out of the room to be quite honest. His cheeks were still a remarkable shade of red.'

There was a long enough pause after that for Soldier to bark, 'And then what?'

'Oh,' Spy said with a dismissive gesture, 'I waited until we got to the supply cupboard, then I knifed him in the heart and left his body there. Apparently no one found him until the morning after. Of course, I was long gone by then. It was such an easy job that I almost felt bad charging my client so much. _Almost_.'

Medic chuckled quietly to himself and then said, 'Spy, why not tell them the story about the disguise that worked too well?'

'Merde, no!' Spy said, flapping one gloved hand towards Medic in a horrified manner. 'I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that.'

Though Sniper wanted to hear more, there was an urgent call of nature he'd been trying to ignore throughout the whole story. With the amount of alcohol and water he'd had to drink, it really wasn't surprising.

The forest was closer than the base so he decided a tree would do. If Sniper had been sober he would have worried that it might count as going outside the boundaries, but drunk Sniper wasn't as fussed. He was just about to head back when he spotted movement in the undergrowth. The faint light from the fire was just enough for him to make out what he was.

Five minutes later he returned to the others with a huge grin stretched across his face.

'Spy! Hey, Spy!' he called. 'Look Spy! I found your cousin!'

The rest of the team looked around to see Sniper holding up a large brown frog and laughing to himself.

'Oh, very funny, bushman,' Spy said.

'Spy, don't be like that. He's your long-lost relative. Aren't you going to say hello?'

'Non.'

'But Spyyyyy.'

'Really now, Spy,' Engineer said, 'You're just being rude.'

'What would Mother say?' Heavy asked.

'Huh hudda!' Pyro added.

'I don't get it,' Soldier said.

'Oh come on, I think you should hold him.'

'What? Non!'

'Spyyyyy.'

'Non! I'm not holding a frog. Especially not one that's been in your pissy hands.'

'Spyyyyyyyyy.'

'No! I am not holding pissy bush frog man!'

There was a pause as everyone tried to work out what he'd just said, Spy included.

'Pissy Bush Frog Man? So you even know his name but you still won’t hold him?'

It was a team effort, but eventually they got Spy to hold the frog on his lap.

'Happy now?' he asked. 'I just want you to know that I hate you all.'

'Mine's better,' Scout said. Sniper looked up to see that the cat had appeared from seemingly nowhere and was blinking up contentedly from Scout's lap.

'Cat!'

Scout wrapped protective arms around her. 'She's mine.'

'You say that, but I'm the one she's been sleeping with lately.' He'd been woken up about five times in the last two weeks by little 'Ows' and scratching at his door.

Scout stared down at the cat. 'Slut Cat, you are such a disappointment to me.'

'Ow?'

While they were distracted, Spy took the opportunity to put the frog back down. Scout and the cat both watched it crawl away.

'Uh, Sniper?'

'Yeah?' Sniper looked around.

'I thought frogs hopped?'

Sniper was silent for a moment as he watched the little amphibian make a break for it.

'Oops yeah, you're right. That's a toad.'

The noise Spy made wasn't quite a scream of rage, but it was close.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, we leave the team bonding fluff behind and enter the wonderful realm of angsty back stories. Then maybe we'll actually get back to this whole 'plot' thing.  
> As usual, I have to say a big thank you to the boyfriend for looking this chapter over for me. Especially since he did so when he should have been getting some sleep after a long day of work and before another one of them!


	24. A Sobering Question

Sniper was halfway through another beer when Scout announced, 'I have my question!' The rather ruffled looking Spy muttered something in French under his breath and Engineer looked up from the guitar he'd been carefully tuning.

'Now Scout, I thought we'd discussed this...' there was an edge of warning in his voice that went straight over the runner's head.

'Awww, come on man! It's just a bit of fun!'

'If it's another one about our sex lives—' Medic began.

'Nah man! It's not. Well it doesn't have to be. I mean, it could be something else.'

Sniper looked at them with a furrowed brow over the top of his beer, and asked, 'What's all this about?'

Spy sighed dramatically. 'It's become a _tradition_ of sorts when we have a night like this, for this nosey little man to come up with the most awkward question he can think of to ask us all.'

'Hey! I don't go for awkward, I go for interesting! And I'm not nosey!'

'Son,' Engineer said heavily, 'You are as nosey as all hell and your questions are _always_ awkward.'

'Urgh, what is it this time?' Demoman called over. Pyro and Soldier looked around too.

'He hasn't told us yet,' Medic called back.

Demoman sighed even more loudly than Spy had and said, 'Come on, let's get this over with.'

Soldier, Pyro and him headed back from the little camp they'd set up on the other side of the fire and settled down within talking distance. The great sulking mountain that was Heavy also grudgingly joined them.

'What is it that is happening now?' he asked.

'I'm asking a question, and the rule is that everyone, _everyone_ has to answer it.'

'Or else?'

'Uh, or else you look like a wuss.' Heavy didn't look very impressed with the threat.

'Mrph, Mrph muh mrphmn?'

'So, what's the question?' Engineer translated.

'It's, umm, right. So, what about the first time you ever—'

'I thought you said it wasn't going to be a question about sex!' Medic interrupted.

'Just because you've got nothing to talk about...' Scout muttered under his breath.

'Pot calling the kettle black,' Spy pointed out.

'So anyway, yeah, no, so— First man you ever killed?'

The fire crackled away behind them. An owl called far off in the middle of the forest. Wind rustled the trees. There was no other sound until Engineer gave a long, low whistle. 'Damn son, there's tactless, and then there's you. Haven't you learnt by now there's some questions you ought never ask a man?'

There was a crunching noise. Beer ran down Soldier's arm from the crushed can in his fist. 'Nazis!' he barked. 'Damn, dirty Nazi!' He didn't explain any further.

Next to him Heavy made a harrumphing noise. Glaring at Scout, he said, 'Bad men learnt the hard way not to try and hurt family just because father was dead and Heavy was young. It was like yapping little dogs attacking a bear. Was not Heavy's fault their bones were so delicate.' He folded his meaty arms across his broad chest. The collective glance moved from him to Pyro.

Pyro had their back to the rest of the team, too busy gazing into the depths of the fire to pay them any attention. 'Pyro?' Scout asked softly.

The flames reflected off the glass panes in their gas mask.

'Mrph mr mrph,' they whispered sadly.

'Leave him,' Engineer told Scout. And for once, he listened.

Sniper got up and fetched himself another drink. Even through the soft, drunken haze, Spy noticed that he sat back down next to Soldier so he'd be the last in line. Sniper pulled something out of the top of his shirt. A thin leather chord with a tooth attached. For a moment Spy thought it might be a human tooth, something connected to the story he was going to tell. But no, it looked more like it had come from a crocodile or an alligator. Spy watched as Sniper held the chord taut in his left hand and began to move the tooth up and down a short length of it again and again with his right. He was staring off at nothing at all and didn't even seem to notice when Demoman spoke up.

'I was used to the shit people used to say. Wasn't so bad where I grew up because everyone was used to my family. And in Japan people used to keep their mouths shut most of the time. But once I moved to America I started having some trouble. Mostly I could deal with it when it was just aimed at me. It wasn't nothing I hadn't heard before really. Sometimes I got into fights and such but most of the time I learnt to walk away. Those kinds of people just aren't worth it.

But one night I'd been out drinking with some mates and I was making my way back to my flat and I came across these skin-head bastards just kicking the living daylights out of some poor lad. And I couldn't— I couldn't just stand by and let them get away with that.'

He paused to take a large swig from a whisky bottle.

'Course, I was outnumbered and so pissed I could barely stand upright, let alone fight... So, yeah, I didn't exactly come out on top of that one, but the kid managed to get away.

'Once I was out of hospital I started asking questions. Managed to find out who they were and where they liked to hang out. I 'accidentally' bumped into them again about a week later and ran for it. They came chasing after me, shouting—well, you can probably guess what kind of stuff they were saying—and followed me straight down into this alley. And they were hooting and hollering at me 'cos the knew it was a dead end. But I knew it was a dead end too you see. And then something _completely_ unexpected happened.'

He downed another mouthful, and then grinned. It was not a friendly expression.

'An old boiler in the abandoned house next to the alleyway blew up. Complete coincidence. No one could have ever predicted it. Shouldn't have ever happened. But _somehow_ it did and just happened to kill all four of the buggers.

'Course, things didn't entirely go to plan. The explosion was larger than I'd intended.'

He tapped his eyepatch. 'Lost this to a piece of flying masonry. But ah well, these things happen, and after that there were four less racist bastards in the world.'

He leant back as far as it was safe for a drunk to do while sitting on the end of a log.

'How old were you?' Scout asked.

Demoman shrugged. Twenty-one. Twenty-two, maybe.'

Next to him, Engineer shifted. 'I was a little younger than that,' he said. 'The man was a nosey fool. I kept telling him there'd be trouble some day if he didn't stop fiddling with my damn prototypes. Just turned out to be more trouble than he expected, is all'

When it was clear Engineer wasn't intending to explain any further, Medic coughed and leant forward.

'Mine was a patient, back when I was a trainee-doctor. And no, it wasn't an accident.' He stared past Pyro to the fire for a moment, before continuing. 'He was a rapist. Everyone in town knew he liked to beat his wife. Everyone had seen the marks. But while he was in overnight with septicaemia, the fever and painkillers made him start to ramble. He revealed... a lot of things. What he was doing to his wife. What he was doing to his daughters. I'd gone to school with one of them. I'd never known. I'd never known what he—' Medic trailed off and sighed.

'Well, primum non nocere, but I couldn't stand to be healing the man who was hurting other people in such a way. So... I helped him on his way. The septicaemia had been pretty far along anyway and he'd never been known for his good health. I heard his family weren't quite as upset as most would be. And no one ever found out my part in it.' He shrugged and leant back again.

'Uh,' Scout started, scratching the cat around her ears absent-mindedly. 'Mine seriously was an accident. Like, I just didn't know my own strength kind of thing, right? See, me and my brothers, we were kind of always ending up on the bad side of the wrong people somehow. And that lead to a lot of fighting, you know? Nothing serious. No guns usually. Not many knives.

'But one time these guys jumped us. Me and Carl and Joe and Art had just been messing around practising our throws and stuff and I still had my bat with me and this guy came at me and I swear he had a knife and I didn't mean to hit him that hard but my bat went straight into his face and there was just this _crunch._ I mean, it's got nothing on the shit I've done since I got here, you know? But at the time I was all like, “Ohhhh shit that's nasty.” Me and my brothers legged it out of there but the other guys couldn't bring it to the cops 'cos like half of them were wanted already for stuff and there weren't any other witnesses. No one ever said nothing to anyone.

'It never even made it onto the news. Too many idiots were getting themselves killed in my neighbourhood for anyone to give that much of a damn. And no one ever found out it was me.' Like Medic, he shrugged and leant back, but he wouldn't look up at anyone until their attention was fixed on Spy.

Spy took a final drag on the cigarette he'd reached for as soon as the conversation has started and stubbed it out on the log beneath him with a vicious twist.

'Mine was not an accident. Nor was it a man.

'I grew up with my mother and younger sister but went away to a rather _unusual_ boarding school when I was eleven. When I was fourteen, my mother died and my sister went to live with an aunt I'd never met. It was another couple of months before I was able to leave the school to visit her. While I got the distinct impression that my aunt and her boyfriend did not want me to come to them for the holidays, I wished to see Gabrielle.

'But when I did, she wasn't—she wasn't right.'

Spy's eyes darkened. When he continued, his voice stayed low and calm but his hands clenched into fists.

'The Gaby I knew was boisterous and loud and always making up ridiculous little songs that she'd sing all the time just to annoy me.'

A pained smile flickered across his face and then faded away again.

'But this girl... this girl wasn't her. Too thin, too pale, too quiet. She'd flinch whenever there was a loud sound or when anyone approached her.

'I soon found out why.

'She tried hiding it, didn't want her big brother to know. I suspect my aunt and her boyfriend had been threatening her as well. But while they were out one evening, a _customer_ came around. Made it clear exactly what he was looking for and who he wanted it from. And then everything made sense.

'I'd never killed anyone before, but I'd been taught how to. My aunt came home that night and I...disposed of her. It was easier to do than I'd expected, but an awful lot more difficult to clean up afterwards. Her boyfriend came back the next morning and I got rid of him too. I didn't get my timing quite right on that one, but I managed all the same.

'I had a story all set out already. Managed to pin the blame on the man who'd come around the day before. Turns out he'd already been in trouble for GBH and had a history of violence. My sister testified against him. She's always been a good liar.

'And after that I took her back to my school. It wasn't common for them to take girls on, but she passed their tests so they did. She wasn't all right for a very long time, but she's gone on to be an incredibly effective spy these days.'

'Better than you?' Scout asked.

Spy's lips curled up into a smile. 'Oh yes.'

Scout gave a tight nod in reply, and then looked past him to the marksman.

'Sniper?'

Sniper started and let go of the crocodile tooth in his hand. He glanced around at the rest of the team and felt very relieved that only Scout and Soldier were looking directly at him. The others had turned themselves away slightly, most of them staring off into the fire. Sniper might have thought they were all disinterested if it hadn't been for the unnatural stillness of everything around him but the flames.

He cleared his throat, mind spinning. He'd been trying to work out how to explain his story while half-listening to the others, but now it was finally his turn, Sniper's thoughts deserted him. All but one that was, and once he said that, the rest of the story just started tumbling out.

'Where I grew up it was the middle of nowhere pretty much. No towns for miles and the only interesting thing around, the national park off to the north-east. My parents taught me not to bait brown snakes or bother giant centipedes or pick up redback spiders and all that but they didn't...they didn't bother much with the, you know, “stranger danger” stuff. I was a pretty antisocial little bugger and I stayed away from the park and I already knew everyone who lived in the nearest town. So I guess they never thought it was something they had to remind me about. But I used to go off exploring by myself for hours. Sometimes I'd take this little one-man tent we had and stay out overnight.

Well, one day I set out on this old horse, Sorrel, that I used to ride. My parents would have trusted her to bring me home even if I hadn't known what I was doing. After two or three hours I spotted something silver off in the distance. I thought to myself “what the hell is that?” and decided I'd got nothing better to do than go and find out. Took me about another half an hour to get close enough, but I found out it was this huge, shiny camper van type thing. Nothing like mine; all new and fancy and huge.

'Course, I was wondering what on earth it was doing all the way out in the middle of nowhere so I decided to go and have a look. I was just getting close when the door opened and this guy stepped out. I thought he was an Aussie to start with 'cos he was built like one, but he didn't have a moustache or any other hair at all and when he spoke it was in this accent I'd never heard before and couldn't for the life of me pin down.'

Sniper's eyes flicked to Heavy for a moment and he plucked up the crocodile tooth again, twisting it between his fingers.

'He acted all, you know, friendly at first. All smiles and stuff. Invited me over to check out his camper. It was real fancy stuff, full of state-of-the-art Aussie tech. No idea how a foreigner got hold of it. There were rings set into the sides that I could tie Sorrel to. On the side under an awning, he had his own horse tied up. Gorgeous bay stallion. I was more impressed by it than the van to be honest. Think that disappointed the guy because I was too busy admiring the horse to want to look inside the van. 'Course,' Sniper snorted derisively, 'with hindsight I can see it was a hell of a good thing that I didn't.'

Beside him, Spy stayed stock still while Scout stared fixedly at the cat in his lap, stroking her back in the same repetitive motion without really thinking about it. RED team might have been made up of hardened mercenaries, but there were some subjects that could make even them uncomfortable.

'The man told me he'd come to Australia to hunt game. Showed me the roos and wallabies and emus he'd shot. He'd a yellow-footed rock-wallaby among them which I wasn't too happy about 'cos they're beautiful little creatures and highly endangered.

'He complained about not being able to find anything more dangerous. Said he'd been hoping for crocs and I told him he wasn't far enough north for that.

'Then he started going on about all the different animals he'd killed in different countries. Bears, tigers, snow leopards, lions, wolves and the like. Expected me to be impressed I think, but some of them are endangered too.

'He got back to complaining about how Australia wasn't living up to expectations and how he'd really wanted to hunt crocs and all that and I just wanted to get back on with my ride really so I kind of was just nodding along vaguely and didn't pay enough attention to what he said next.'

'It was was something about how the most dangerous animal in Australia wasn't the crocs or the spiders or the snakes or any of that. It was the people. Went on about Australium and stuff and then he started telling me about this place where they'd kidnap homeless people and let them go in the middle of this forest and then other people would pay to hunt them down. By this point I was getting pretty creeped out but I was a stupid little bastard. I didn't make the connection.'

Sniper paused and shifted uncomfortably.

'Until he grabbed hold of me that is. And broke my fingers.'

Keeping his eyes low, Sniper raised his right hand to show his two crooked fingers. Heads turned just a fraction to look. Even Pyro's.

'Then he started laughing and telling me to run and I just legged it. I'd been heading kind of towards Flinder's range go the landscape was pretty hilly and rocky and I thought that if I got a head start on him I might be able to lose him. It was hard to run fast 'cos I had to keep my hand tucked in close. Think I was hoping to find somewhere to hide. He was behind me, counting down from ten. Fuck, I'd never been so scared in my bloody life.

'Dunno if he skipped some numbers or something but it felt like five seconds flat before there were footsteps behind me. Afterwards I wondered why he didn't ride the horse, but it was untacked and it probably would have made the chase too easy anyway. See, I was miles and miles away from anywhere. There was nowhere to run to, so he could draw it out for as long as he wanted to.

'It didn't take him long to catch up with me though. Just barrelled straight into me, knocking me over. Winded me. I couldn't breath. Thought I was going to die then and there but he just stood over me, laughing. I got straight back up and started running again.

'He caught and let me a go a couple more times before he got bored. I was pretty much out of my mind by that point. Just fucking terrified. And then he—he—but I—I killed him. I had a knife see, strapped to my leg. My dad gave it to me for my tenth birthday and I used to take it with me everywhere. Don't know how I managed to get to it in time but he was... over me, and his stomach was open and I just _stabbed_ him.'

Sniper's hands were on his lap now, clenched tight against the tremors.

'He screamed. Never knew a bloke could make a sound that was a proper scream and not just a yell. And I couldn't get the knife back out. His stomach muscles had tightened around it. And he was just clawing at me, his eyes all huge and bulging out the sockets and there was just blood everywhere. I managed to pull myself away and ran off about a hundred yards and turned around and he was still down. Dying. It took him a long time and even after he stopped moving I didn't dare go back for ages. Knew I had to get my knife though. It came out a lot easier once he was dead.

'Went back to his camp. Got Sorrel. Let his stallion go. I wanted to take it with me but I knew it'd raise too many questions. Got back home, washed the blood off in a water trough, threw the knife down the well and hid my clothes in the barn until I could burn them. Didn't want to get in trouble for murder, you see.' Sniper gave a weak, shaky laugh. He'd sobered up enough to regret ever starting this story. He should have just summed it up in a couple of sentences, but alcohol had loosened his tongue.

'I kept away from people as much as I could after that. It was the kind of thing I sometimes did so no one asked too many questions. My dad just said I was being moody. My broken fingers hurt like all hell but I stole painkillers for them and kept them out of sight. That's why they ended up crooked, because I never got them set properly. My mum noticed eventually. Can't even remember what lie I told her anymore.'

He took a swig of beer for his dry throat. It gave him an excuse not to look at anyone.

'Did anyone ever find out? Scout asked, his voice quieter than usual.

'That I did it? Nah. Took them ages to find the van and even longer to find the body. By then there wasn't much left in the way of evidence. Not sure if they ever found the horse.

'I learnt from a newspaper report about his death that he'd been a Russian millionaire or something working in the oil industry. He was well known for being a trophy hunter. I think the general consensus was that he must have ran into something a bit more dangerous than he could handle this time.'

'Sniper,' Spy asked delicately. 'How old were you?'

Sniper shrugged, reaching a hand up to twist the crocodile tooth between his fingers again.

'Eleven or twelve, I think.'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, who out of the nine mercs has the most interesting murder story?
> 
> The usual thank you goes to the boyfriend for checking this over for me, as well as for looking through Snowfort (and naming the fic!)  
> An extra thank you this time has to go to a-cup-of-tea-dear on Tumblr for patiently putting up with me rambling about what happens in the rest of the fic while I tried to get my plot back in order.


	25. Shutterbug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The utterly fantastic art for this chapter was done by [leoleoteterev](https://leoleoteterev.tumblr.com/post/158516856580/%D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%B2%D1%8B%D0%B9-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D1%82-%D0%BA-25-%D0%B3%D0%BB%D0%B0%D0%B2%D0%B5-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D1%84%D0%B8%D0%BA%D0%B0-foe-yay-by) (Click link for rebloggable image)

Despite all the water he'd drank alongside the alcohol, Sniper still woke up with a pounding headache. The loud snoring from beside him did not help. Sniper blinked blearily, rubbed at his eyes, and tried to make sense of the world.

He was in his van but had clearly never made it to bed last night. Instead he'd propped himself up in the corner of the L-shaped seating and fallen asleep with his legs hanging off the end. And for some reason, Demoman was slumped against him, fast asleep.

_What on earth?_

'Uh, Demo? Oh God, my head. Demoman?' He shook the snoring man's shoulder gently.

On the table next to him there were four beer bottles, two of them half still half-full. That jogged a few memories. An intense wave of embarrassment flooded through Sniper as he recalled sharing _that_ particular story with the group. He'd never told anyone the truth about how he broke his fingers before, not even Michelle. But it had all come pouring out last night and now they all knew. Hung-over Sniper was currently very fed-up with the earlier drunken Sniper, and not for the first time. But still, it could have been worse. He had far more shameful secrets locked away that no amount of drinking would ever persuade him to bring to light.

He poked Demoman in the side. The snoring stopped, replaced with a snuffling noise and then, 'Where the hell am I?'

'My van.'

'How did I end up here?'

'I think we wanted to keep on drinking when everyone was heading back in but it was too cold outside so we decided to come here instead.'

'Oh. Okay. Why?'

'We thought it was closer than the base.'

There was a pause.

'It's not though, is it?'

'Nah.'

Another pause.

'Uh, Sniper?'

'Yeah?'

'You know your van?'

'Yeah.'

'It's, well... It's very blue, isn't it?'

 

Eventually Demoman managed to persuade Sniper to leave the safety of his van, but not before the marksman had shoved his aviators on, found his hat, (which had been in the sink for some reason) and pulled it down as far as it would go. The only reason Sniper was leaving his nice, dimly lit van was because of the DSS Dispenser. As well as healing minor cuts and bruises Medic didn't want to be bothered with, and embarrassing little things they in turn didn't want to bother him with, apparently the dispenser could cure hangovers too. It was a dream come true, and also an explanation for why the others (sans Medic) had all gone flat out with their drinking.

They found a rather crumpled looking Spy collapsed over the top of the dispenser, surrounded by billowing red fumes.

'Mentlegen,' he croaked.

'Uh, what?' Demoman asked.

'What?' Echoed Spy, his brow drawn together in bleary confusion.

Sniper, who had noticed nothing wrong with the greeting and just assumed it was French, sat down heavily next to the dispenser and laid his head against the cool metal.

'God, my head hurts.'

'Mine too. Budge your arse over, Spy.'

Spy grumbled but complied, peeling himself off of the dispenser as its healing fumes latched on to Demoman.

'By the way, gentlemen, I should warn you to tread carefully around Medic today.'

'Why? He hardly drank anything last night!'

'No,' Spy agreed, 'But Heavy and Scout certainly did. Medic had to pump their stomachs to save them from being trapped in respawn all weekend. He is not happy. Best to leave him to take the brunt of his anger out on those two.'

 

The rest of the weekend passed quietly, with most of the RED team spending as little time conscious or in Medic's vicinity as they could manage. The DSS Dispenser might cure the worst of a hangover, but it was best to sleep the rest of it and Medic's rage off.

Sniper did make sure to spend some of his time on Sunday practising his archery though. He was still rusty, but his hands were starting to toughen up again. Soon the blisters would be gone, replaced with proper callouses. Now, that was what Sniper called progress.

 

The BLU Spy was relieved when Monday finally came around. It hadn't been a very interesting weekend for the BLU team either, unless you counted Medic catching Scout raiding his experimental medicine cupboard. Medic shrieking in anger was always amusing, and it had certainly been entertaining watching what happened when Medic forced Scout to take pills from the bottle he'd been holding when the German discovered him. The Spy hadn't known that it was possible for skin to turn such a vivid shade of blue. As an extra bonus, whatever the substance was also killed Scout, so they'd all been spared his company for the rest of the weekend. All the same, the BLU Spy had found himself itching to return to the battlefield.

The match started off well with two nicely-done backstabs on the Sniper, an Ambassador headshot on the Engineer, three sapped buildings and a safely delivered briefcase full of intelligence, all in one life. It should have raised the Spy's spirits greatly, but somehow it didn't.

The problem was that the Spy was _bored_. Bored bored bored. Now that he was no longer allowed to play with the Sniper, everything felt so humdrum and dull. Scaring the Sniper off the rafters during that one humiliation round had been fun, and aiming to get so many backstabs in the same place on the marksman's back was good practice, but it didn't stop him from feeling bored.

So the Spy made a deal with himself. If he could behave well for the next five days, then after the battle of Friday he'd allow himself a little treat for good behaviour.

The rest of the week passed far too slowly for the Spy's tastes. By the time Friday finally came around he'd been just about ready to off himself from boredom. He'd done it once or twice before so he could use respawn like a time machine to skip dull evenings by.

After the battle he grabbed a quick dinner, avoided getting caught up in a fight between the Heavy and Soldier in the kitchen, and went off to visit the REDs. Really, he knew he should go snoop around their new Heavy's room. He hadn't got around to doing that, but to be honest, he couldn't be bothered. The Heavy was a large Russian man who liked firing his minigun, eating sandwiches of all things on the battlefield, and his Medic. So, pretty standard as heavy weapon guys went, and not very interesting. The Spy was sure that there must be more to the man than that, but he couldn't really be bothered with finding it out right now. Some day when he'd got bored of the enemy Sniper he'd have a nose around the room, but that didn't look like it was going to be happening anytime soon.

Instead, he took a moment to make sure that none of the REDs were around, and then broke into the Sniper's van again. This time, rather than looking around, he went looking for one thing in particular. He zeroed in on the little battered table and lifted aside a couple of newspapers and a battered copy of the first Lord of the Rings book in search of a little notebook. He found it and flipped through it until he came to the picture of himself as a fox. The Spy smiled and picked up the camera hanging around his neck.

_Click._

He turned to the next page and took a picture of the second drawing of himself and then flicked through the remaining pages. There were only a handful of them, and then evidence of several torn out pages. The Spy tried to convince himself that he wasn't disappointed there were no more pictures of him. He decided to photograph a few other of the drawings too because at the end of the day, the Sniper really was quite the artist.

When he was done, he put the little notebook back where he found it. He'd done what he'd came to do, but he still felt rather bored. He was just about to leave when he spotted the edge of something sticking out from underneath a newspaper. He carefully lifted the paper off and to the side so as not to lose the page, and then picked up the object beneath.

It was a sketchbook, and a proper one sized, not at all like the tiny lined notepad. And it was obviously well-used if the battered plain black cover and dog-eared pages were anything to go by.

He opened it to the first page and was met with a lovingly rendered drawing of an old, slightly dilapidated looking farm building. The Sniper had made full use of the A4 paper, with careful little details all over the page; clouds scudding across the sky, a battered bucket fallen over on its side, fat little hens pecking at the ground, the missing slates off the roof and knots in the wood of the barn door. Obviously this was a place the Sniper either knew very well, or had spent a lot of time looking at. The other interesting thing about it to the Spy was that it was done in pencil. Everything he'd seen of the Sniper's art so far had looked as though it had been done in cheap blue or black ballpoint pen.

He went to turn to the next page and found himself unable to. Sellotape had been stuck at the top and bottom, sealing away over half the sketchbook. The Spy frowned to himself and flicked to the next available page. The cheap looking pen lines were back, but the art was better than in the little sketchbook because of the additional space for extra detail.

He passed by a number of nicely drawn but dull pieces, a rather explosive looking car crash and some sort of coiled up crocodile-dragon creature before he found another slightly more interesting picture. It was the whole of the RED team gathered around their kitchen table during a rather rowdy looking dinnertime. The thing that really caught his attention was the Sniper's drawing of himself. The Spy had never seen a self-portrait by the marksman before. Compared to his depictions of the rest of the team, he'd drawn himself very loosely. Just simple little lines that gave the impression of long limbs, slightly hunched shoulders and a small frown on a face almost completely obscured by glasses and hat.

The Spy decided to take a picture anyway.

Several pages of cats followed for some unknown reason. The same cat, actually. Now that he thought about it, it looked rather like the ginger tabby he'd spotted in the Engineer's workshop on occasion. On a whim, he decided to snap a picture of a couple of those too.

Four pages later and his heart did a little leap for joy in his chest. It was him. The Sniper had drawn him. And it looked fantastic. Sure, the Spy was certain that his features weren't quite _that_ sharp and the sinister expression on his face was just a _little_ off-putting, but overall it was a beautiful rendition of him. People would pay good money to get a hold of such artful depictions of themselves, and here was the Spy, getting them for free from a man who hated him.

On the next page was a quick sketch of his face on one side, and the RED Spy's on the other. The Sniper had drawn the BLU with a cold-eyed frown on his face, while the RED looked cheerful enough, albeit rather tired. It came with caring too much, in the BLU Spy's opinion. Much better to distance yourself from people then waste your energy worrying about them.

Ignoring the picture of the RED, the Spy snapped a photograph of his portrait and continued on through the notebook. To his disappointment there was nothing more of interest, just a couple of sketches of the treeline visible from his window, a few rough outlines of some of the locations on the battlefield and a handful more drawings of the RED team.

The Spy flipped back to the hidden pages, curious. What could they contain that was so secret that even the Sniper didn't want access to them? Carefully and patiently the Frenchman began to pick the sellotape off, making sure the strips came away in a single piece so he could try and press it back down again to hide he'd ever been there. Eventually he managed to peel them off. and after glancing nervously out of the window that faced the RED base for signs of the Sniper, turned the first page.

It was her. The lady he'd seen little glimpses of in the notebook. But this wasn't just a feature or two picked out and then scribbled back over, this was a fully shaded portrait done in pencil like the first page.

Whoever she was, she was beautiful, he had to admit that. Not the kind of woman he'd ever go for himself, but attractive all the same with her full lips, soft scattering of freckles and halo of curly black hair.

'Hmm, half-cast?' he muttered to himself. From their treatment of the Aboriginal people he'd always assumed that most Australians would be too racist to be interested in black women. Then again, so far the Sniper had proved himself to be rather an odd one for an Australian.

The next page was her again, beaming up at him from the paper. On the next she looked thoughtful. And the one after was a full body sketch in which she had absolutely no clothes on.

The Spy snickered to himself and snapped a picture of that too. This lady certainly was a good looking one all round. Far too good for the Sniper.

He lowered the camera, deep in thought. So who was she exactly? The Sniper's mother had mentioned him having a girlfriend or the like in that Smissmas card. At the time he'd written her off as a fantasy. Maybe she was. Or maybe she was some woman the marksman had been lusting after but never got.

It was quite possible this nude had been drawn from imagination. Except, she looked real. She looked like a real, flawed human being, not a pin-up girl. Was the drawing based off what he'd seen one day peering down that rifle scope of his? Possibly. But her pose looked deliberate, and the look she was shooting back over her shoulder was a coy, enticing one.

The Spy was forced to come to the conclusion that perhaps the Sniper had a little more pulling power than he'd given him credit for. He was lanky and awkward and had terrible fashion sense but even the Spy had to admit- no, the Spy didn't have to admit anything.

Jumping off that train of thought before it had chance to reach the next station, the Spy continued to flip through the pages. There was as much of a variety of subjects and styles here as there had been in the notepad. He spent some time admiring a page covered in wonderfully intricate Celtic knots and another that he thought have must been a self-portrait, though the man in the picture looked so much younger and happier than the one he'd been fighting that it was hard to say. The Spy took a photograph of it anyway, deciding he could always draw a hat, aviators and scar on top to see if that helped confirm anything.

Every few pages though, there she was again. The same woman from all angles and in various outfits and stages of undress. Some looked candid, others purposefully posed. In the corner of one especially fine sketch, the Spy found another little clue to add to his collection. It was a little scribble that read simply, '02/04/71'. So this sketch was two years old. Drawn in February. Or was that April? He couldn't remember which way around Australians wrote the date.

But either way he had a date for one of the Sniper's drawings of his lady friend. He finished going through the remaining pages in pencil before hitting pen again. That also happened to be the first page after the tapped-up section.

So, what did this mean? He put the pieces together in his head. The Sniper only seemed to draw in pen these days but clearly used to use pencil. There's a woman, or at least, there _was_ a woman he used to sketch all the time but these days he only drew hints of her here and there, and often crossed them back out. And he'd also sellotaped up the pages containing his full illustrations of her. Most likely it seemed, to hide them from himself rather than from prying eyes, as he'd shown no indication of knowing the Spy had been in his van.

Clearly something had happened between them some time in the last four years. RED had got the Sniper out of prison or off Death Row. It seemed the most likely answer was that she'd left him for being a felon. Most likely, she'd found someone better while her partner was locked up and decided to leave him. That would explain the Sniper's reaction too. But might there be more to it than that?

The Spy wasn't happy to just sit around and speculate. He pressed the tape back into place as firmly as he could, carefully rearranged the table to how it had been when he entered the van, and left. He spent the journey back to his base planning.

He had the Sniper's name.

He had a date.

He had contacts.

He could find the answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for he Spy's period-typical racism. Also, apologies in advance for everything about him in the next chapter.  
> Thank you to the boyfriend for catching my typos and naming this chapter :)


	26. The Itch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful piece of artwork in this chapter was done by [avengersass-embled](http://avengersass-embled.tumblr.com/). I love it so much.

As well as boredom, there was another issue, one that left the Spy feeling restless and annoyed. Because the thing was, all those neat little backstabs dealt with the Sniper, but they didn't get his attention. Not until he woke up again in respawn with a phantom pressure between his shoulder blades, that was. But he was never aware that the Spy was in the room with him at the time. They never got a chance to interact. No hellos, no insults, no punches, no knife wounds, no nothing.

If the Spy was honest with himself (something he generally avoided being as much as possible), he was lonely. He had a low opinion on the rest of the BLUs and with no one around who met his reasonable standards he had to look elsewhere. For reasons he refused to explore, that elsewhere seemed to have become the enemy Sniper.

He did this sometimes, picking on one enemy to torment for a while until he got bored, but it was somehow different this time. And it was killing him that since the agreement, the Sniper hadn't paid him any attention beyond the odd headshot and semi-frequent glances behind himself.

The Spy had to change that.

It startled off subtly. The first three times he decloaked far earlier than normal to give the Sniper a better chance of spotting him. The first two times he managed the backstab all the same, the third time, the marksman caught him. The fight was short and bloody and ultimately ended the same way as all their recent encounters, with the Spy's knife sticking out of the dead Sniper's back. But at least this time there'd been chance for him to see the fear on the marksman face, to hear the startled swearing and to dodge the kukri swinging for his head.

He stared down at the body sprawled across the floor and pressed his palm against the deep cut on his forearm. Spikes of pain and leftover adrenaline shot through him but it had been worth it. He'd taken a risk and still won the fight, and better yet, he'd got the Sniper's attention.

To avoid suspicion, he behaved properly for the rest of the match. The next day though he was back at it, with mixed results. He was careful to always keep the upper hand, and to win every time but they weren't always easy victories. A couple of times he'd ended up bleeding-out before managing to reach a health kit, knowing that calling for the Medic would have been a complete waste of time due to their mutual dislike of each other.

 

Mid-round on Thursday something happened to disturb the pattern of forewarning, backstabs and the occasional headshot.

By the time he reached the Sniper in a particularly hard to get to nest, someone had already beaten him to it.

The room was a narrow walkway lined with windows. The Spy found the marksman slumped against the wall behind one, streaks of blood above him showing where he'd slid down it. To anyone who'd spent much time at all in this pointless little war, the cause and nature of his injuries was evident. The clue was in the scorched windowsill, the tang of cordite and melted plastic in the air and little pieces of blue and grey metal studded into the walls.

The BLU Demoman had been using sticky bombs for once. Evidentially the Sniper hadn't been able to work out the source of the heavy _thunk_ sound they made as they hit the window frame in time for him to get away from it.

The result was a painful and slow death from shrapnel wounds.

Except...

The Spy had just been about to turn around and leave for the RED resupply room when he saw the Sniper's fingers twitch against a gash in his side.

The Sniper wasn't dead.

The Spy uncloaked and slunk closer until he could hear the faint, unsteady rasp of the Sniper's breathing. He watched as the marksman made small, pained noises in the back of his throat and tried to raise his head. He thought then that the Sniper must have spotted him, but the eyes that fluttered open were staring listlessly ahead, not at him.

He licked his lips, a nervous energy roiling down his spine. Exactly how far gone was the Sniper?

And did he dare?

The Spy inched closer and crouched down next to the marksman. He continued to watch the man's eyes for signs of alarm or recognition but pain and exhaustion were the only things that registered in them.

He pulled off one glove and tucked it safely away into his jacket pocket. His exposed hand felt uncharacteristically cold and clammy in the evening air. The Spy wiped it down his thigh and reached out to the dying RED.

Keeping his touch light, he stroked his hand down the back of the Sniper's head. When the marksman didn't react, he shifted in closer and did it again, careful and reverent. Emboldened by the lack of response, he carded his fingers through the Sniper's thick brown hair and then ran the back of his hand down the RED's left sideburn, trailing his knuckles down the man's jaw and slipping down to his throat. His heart was fluttering hard against his chest like a little caged bird as he gently pulled aside the marksman's collar and ran a finger across the scar there. He had no idea how he would explain his actions if the Sniper was able to remember any of this. The Spy also wasn't sure how to explain them to himself. He was sure though that the Sniper was too far gone, too close to respawning, to be aware of what was going on.

He returned to stroking his fingers through the dying man's hair and froze, breath catching in his throat, when the Sniper's head pressed against his hand. For a moment he thought the Sniper must have slumped against him as he died, but his chest was still rising and falling in a weak, uneven pattern. The Spy kept his hand where it was, supporting the Sniper's head, and rubbed his thumb in circles in a patch of his sideburn just in front of his ear. The Sniper's eyelids twitched but didn't open. A little sigh escaped him. He'd stopped making the pained noises now.

A rush of emotions swept through the Spy, none that he could properly identify. For a moment he allowed himself to wish this was real. To wish that the Sniper might come to him for comfort.

Then he stomped down on the thought, trying to crush it. It was a difficult one to destroy all together though so he handled it the same way he'd always handled unwanted emotions and thoughts; he channelled them into anger.

Except this time, something else came roaring through and swept the anger away, something wild and aggressive that clawed its way into his mind, howling out one word again and again.

The Spy's hand clenched into a fist, fingers digging into the dying man's scalp and pulling at his hair.

_Mine. Mine. Mine!_

 

The Sniper respawned, feeling dizzy and light-headed. He leant against one of the cold breeze-block walls of the resupply room and groaned. Slow deaths like that last one were always horrible. Respawn generally only took away the last few seconds of each life. Apparently whoever was in charge of coding that into the system had assumed that fatal wounds always killed you quickly.

Though thanks to blood-loss, a good chunk of that latest death was fuzzy anyway. Near the end he'd even became delirious. For some reason or another, he'd been convinced that his mother was there with him, stroking a hand across his head like she had done when he was ill as a child.

Even though he knew it couldn't have been real, and even though he swore he'd felt a painful tug on his hair just before everything had faded, the Sniper chose to take comfort from it. It wasn't as though anyone in the real world would reach out to him with such tenderness, so his brain's own fevered imaginings would have to do.

 

The Spy chose to stay away from the Sniper on Friday for reasons of his own, but over the weekend a familiar itch began to work its way under his skin. It was an irritating, unhelpful little thing for a spy to have because it came with one urge. To be noticed.

And the rest of the BLU team noticed him all right. That weekend the Spy was everywhere, pushing boundaries and needling at his team mates. Things went missing, arguments were started and insults thrown. The other BLUs cursed the masked man, either to his face or behind his back, depending on their levels of intelligence and self-preservation. No one knew what set the Spy off like this. They just knew that once in awhile the Frenchman would step down from his aloof pedestal and start badgering them all. Apparently, for the simple purpose of trying to make them as angry as possible. And somehow he'd always survive it. He'd cloak just as the first plate was thrown or disappear just as soon as he'd got two of his team mates at each other's throats.

None of them (except perhaps the Sniper, who'd always seen a lot more than he shared) realised it was all because the Spy desperately wanted attention but had no idea how to go about getting in a constructive manner. Not even the Spy himself was quite aware that that was his motivation. Nor did he know how easy it was to track his behaviour back to his childhood. To the mother who loved him but had so little time for him between her two jobs and demanding partner. And to the stepfather who'd reward him for his actions one time and punish him for the same thing the next, making it impossible for the boy to work out if the attention he would get for his behaviour was going to be positive or negative.

Things had become better once he'd moved to a particular new boarding school. Armed with a new name and a new identity, he'd felt like a spy already. It hadn't taken long for his natural abilities to earn him praise from both tutors and students alike. He'd revelled in it, and soon discovered how to toy with people in the same way his stepfather had done with him. How much fun it was to twist their words against them and make them squirm. He'd never descended to his stepfather's level though. Never resorted to using violence against those weaker than themselves to keep them in their place. Not back then at least. He was clever, he just used his words. Antoine from the year below had always been the most amusing to mess around with. The Spy would watch as Antoine's face, still round from puppy-fat, began to go a blotchy red at every mocking word. And how his eyes, round from awe, would light up again at every tiny hint of a compliment. _Fool._

The real world hadn't quite lived up to expectations. Spying was a tiresome job that could involve months of hard, boring work with little reward. Where were his admirers? His accolades? What was the point in risking his life again and again, in pulling off death-defying stunts and flawless impersonations, if he wasn't allowed to tell anybody about it? A famous spy was a bad spy and he was nothing if not a good one. But it rankled all the same.

Joining BLU had just made things worse. Here were nine men who should have been worshipping the ground he stood on. But they never so much as gave him a pat on the back, no matter how many enemy backs he stabbed, sentries he sapped and intelligence he stole. BLU spies must be silent and invisible and secretive at all times. And he was all that. But sometimes it just wasn't enough.

 

On Monday, the Spy couldn't resist dropping his cloak while approaching the Sniper from an angle. He saw shock at his sudden appearance register on the Sniper's face and dived in for the fight. This one was much tougher than any from the week before and the Spy only narrowly missed being beheaded at one point. He leant heavily against a wall afterwards, cradling the hand that was currently missing two fingers to his chest. Still worth it, he decided. Still worth it for the snarled insults they'd exchanged and the look of rage on the Sniper's face.

It was not, however, worth dying for and a couple of days later the Spy was forced to fight dirty to avoid doing so.

This time he'd purposefully trodden on a floorboard he usually avoided. It wasn't an especially noisy one. That would have been too obvious a giveaway. Instead it was one that made just the slightest little creaking noise when you stepped off of it.

That part of the plan went off without a hitch. Somehow though, he'd failed to notice that the Sniper's kukri wasn't in its sheath like usual, but resting next to him on the crate he was sat on. The Sniper swept up his knife the second the heard the sound and turned to face the Spy. Without pausing to exchange a word, the Sniper threw himself over the crate and swung his knife up with a snarl.

Immediately the Spy was forced on the defensive. It took all his skill to avoid the swipes, and all his luck to knock the kukri out of the Sniper's hands. Unfortunately for him, he also lost his knife in the scuffle.

He dived straight after it but the Sniper slammed bodily into him. They went down together, the force of the fall and an elbow to the chest forcing all the air out of the Spy's lungs. Before he had chance to recover, the Sniper was on top of him.

It was an unwelcome reversal of the position they'd been in that time the BLU Medic had wandered over and got the wrong idea. It became even more unwelcome when the Sniper grabbed hold of the Spy's tie, yanking it tight, and pulled back his free hand into a fist.

Fear flickered across the Spy's face, making the Sniper smile. It was not a friendly smile, all teeth and scar and narrowed eyes behind tinted glass. If the Spy didn't find a way to get out of this situation in the next few seconds, he was going to get his face beaten to a pulp. He'd pulled the tiger's tail once too often, and now he was going to be punished for it. Because of course, no matter how much he'd started to think of this particular tiger as _his,_ it was still a wild animal

An idea occurred to the Spy, one that was a low-blow even for him. But when no better options presented themselves to him, he went for it.

The Sniper's grip tightened, making the Spy choke. 'Oh!' The BLU gasped. 'Don't do that, Sniper!' he said, the words coming out as a low moan. Confusion flickered over the marksman's face.

'Sniper...' The Spy began, staring up into the RED's eyes.

'...That...really...turns me on.'

Confusion slipped away, leaving the blank look of someone who'd just received terrible news but hadn't had time to process it yet.

To help him along, the Spy bucked his hips up against Sniper and made the loudest, lustiest moaning noise he could manage.

The result was instantaneous.

Sniper leapt off him like an electrocuted cat, with a startled yawl to match. He fell on his backside, scrabbled backwards the wall and then dragged himself up it, all the while staring in horror at the Spy and swearing up a very distressed sounding storm.

The Spy stayed where he was on the floor, hips canted up a little and heavy-lidded eyes staring right back at him. A visible shudder ran down the Sniper's back before he dashed for the door and ran out of the room without stopping to even grab his kukri on the way out.

The BLU waited until the panicked footsteps faded and slumped back down onto the floor. And then he started to laugh. Once he started it was hard to stop, his whole body shaking with snorts of laughter until there were tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

Now _that_ had got his Sniper's attention all right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have my full permission to punch the Spy in the face. Or anywhere, really.  
> Thank you to the boyfriend for proofreading and the chapter title (I can write the chapters, but I don't seem to be able to name them.)  
> Also, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review the fic so far or to talk to me on Tumblr. It really means a lot to me, guys!


	27. Set Up to Fail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to you,  
> Happy birthday to you  
> Happy birthday dear Foe Yay,  
> Happy birthday to you.
> 
> Yep, as of today Foe Yay is one years old. I never changed the name, I still haven't thought of anything better to replace the outdated description, and worst of all, I still haven't finished the bloody thing!  
> There is, however, a new chapter for you here and I've also now got a playlist for Foe Yay up and running.  
> [LINK](http://8tracks.com/terminalnostalgia/foe-yay)  
>  If like me, you live in a country that 8tracks doesn't actually like, there's also a link to the youtube version in the description.  
> I've got more playlists in the works for Sniper, the BLU Spy and Michelle which I will finish up and upload if I ever have the have the cover art to go with them.  
> [Avengersass-embled](http://avengersass-embled.tumblr.com/) did the art for this one :)  
> 

'You all right there, Sniper?' The marksman whirled around, blood from his kukri spattering the ground. The RED Spy was standing behind him, eyebrows raised.

'Yeah,' Sniper grunted. 'I'm fine.'

'I take it that the BLU Demoman did something you didn't approve of today?' Spy asked with dry amusement.

Sniper turned around to look at the bloody corpse at his feet.

'Yeah.' It was the truth; that slow death had been awful. But at the same time, who it was didn't matter. Demoman or Scout or Medic, he'd been out for blood.

The guilt would hit him soon, but at the moment there was nothing but anger.

He'd had to hurt someone. Had to lash out. After what that BLU bastard had done. He'd needed a way of letting all that hate and fear and humiliation out.

So now he was standing there, covered in flecks of the blood while the body of the BLU Demoman lay in a crumpled mess at his feet. And he was still angry. But now he was as angry at himself as he was at the Spy.

This type of brutality, this lack of professionalism, this wasn't him. These kind of actions, this level of emotion, it belonged to a younger Nathaniel Mundy. To the youth who'd thought the whole world was against him and had sought to lash back out at it in anyway he could.

It was these kind of feelings that had lead to him picking up his rifle and turning it on other human beings in the first place. Sniper had thought he'd closed that chapter of his life, laid it to rest and exorcised its demons.

But he should have known it couldn't last, not once RED dragged him back to the assassin's life he'd put so firmly behind himself seven years ago.

'I'm fine,' he assured Spy again. 'Just need to go, you know, get a shower. Get cleaned up.'

Spy let him go, but Sniper couldn't stop himself from wondering if the Frenchman somehow knew that this had been the first time he'd ever killed someone during a humiliation round.

 

Thoughts swirled around Sniper's head as blood swirled down the plughole.

The BLU Spy, he'd-

That bastard-

He'd-

Sniper didn't want to think about it, but somehow he couldn't stop himself.

Did this mean that Sniper's hunch had been correct? The Spy really was into him? The BLU Spy, despite all those awful deaths, liked him in some way? Was interested in him, physically at least?

It was the most unpleasant thought imaginable. Out of every person in existence, the BLU Spy would be Sniper's last choice for a partner. Just trying to imagine what that would be like-to let the Spy get close to him, to let the Spy touch him, to let him take whatever it was he really wanted from him- made Sniper physically cringe and his chest tighten in panic.

What made everything so much worse was that Sniper was convinced he'd accidentally discovered that the enemy Spy had an asphyxiation fetish. Sniper had been throttling the guy with his own tie when he'd made his move, after all. There were some things that he simply didn't want to know about his enemy, let alone discover them first hand.

Sniper put his head in his hands, fingers brushing through sodden hair. He'd been on top of the BLU Spy. Strangling him. Hurting him. Trying to kill him. And the Spy had liked it?

What chance did he ever have of winning if the Spy enjoyed both hurting him _and_ being hurt by him? It was a lose-lose situation for the marksman.

Sniper curled his fingers into his hair, pulling at it and digging his nails hard into his scalp. What could he do?

He bowed forward, legs bending, eyes screwed up tight, nails pressing in harder.

What could he do?

Sniper's knees hit the floor as he curled up on himself, water hammering down onto his exposed back.

What. Could. He. Do?

He didn't know.

He didn't know.

He didn't know.

It occurred to him after a minute how much the enemy Spy would probably like the sight of him right now. Sniper let go of his hair, stood up and turned off the shower.

He still didn't have an answer.

 

Sniper loved routine. Life, in general, was a stressful thing. It was filled with uncertainty and anxiety and _people_. Routine though, routine was reliable. It told him exactly where to be and when to be there. It calmed him, reassured him. Whenever Sniper's life became stable enough to support a nice healthy routine, it was as though a heavy weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

So even though dinner was rarely ready by then, Sniper always headed into base at eight thirty on the dot. In a way, it was his self-imposed socialising time and to his surprise, it really wasn't all that bad. Over the last few weeks, Sniper had really started to settle in well with the RED team. Most of them actually seemed happy to have him join them, or at least, they didn't show any outward signs of disliking his company. It was pleasantly close to having actual friends.

He seemed to be getting on especially well with Demoman. There was just something about the man that made him such easy company. He always had a good anecdote or two to share, expressed interest in Sniper's own stories, laughed and joked easily, and always had a bottle of beer or cider on offer. The marksman usually turned him down on that one, on account of having nothing to share in return. It never took much effort on Demo's part to persuede him to change his mind though.

There was the added bonus that Demoman didn't worry about him. Not like Medic and Spy and sometimes even Heavy did. The three of them had a habit of 'just checking in' with him far more than necessary. Sniper had the BLU Spy situation under control. He was a mercenary after all, not a child to be coddled! He didn't need their concerned looks and gentle questions. Sniper just wanted to be treated like a normal colleague with no more or fewer problems than the rest of the team. And he got exactly that from Demoman.

Demoman was also the only person who didn't seem to get fed up of explaining what was going on to Sniper when they watched movies or TV shows in the rec room. The rest of the team would roll their eyes, give sarcastic comments or say something along the lines of, ' _Really?_ You're kidding, right?' It was mostly just intended as harmless banter but it still annoyed Sniper. He didn't enjoy having it pointed out to him again and again how stupid they thought he was being. Because the thing was, he simply wasn't very good at keeping up with why characters were doing the things they were doing. Apparently people were supposed to be able to tell from a couple of frames of an expression how a character was feeling. Sniper had never been so great with that kind of thing, in real life or on TV. It was as though everybody else in the world had been born with a cheat sheet for people-reading that angels or God or nature or whatever you believed in, had simply forgotten to give it to him too.

 

It was Medic's turn to cook that night, something that Sniper was looking forward to more than the others. Anything Medic prepared tended to be rather bland, come in large quantities and to be extremely healthy. Sniper was perfectly happy with the first two and could stomach the last one every nine days or so.

He'd been heading towards the kitchen with the intention of finding out how long dinner was likely to be, when Soldier waylaid him outside the door.

'Sniper!' he hissed in a stage whisper, tilting his helmet up so he could glance from the kitchen door to the marksman and back again. There was something about Soldier's eyes that always startled Sniper. Maybe it was because they were such an unexpectedly bright, fervent blue. Or maybe it was because he was so used to seeing the brim of a helmet in their place that something didn't seem right about seeing them at all. It was like turning around one day to find that Spy had taken his mask off.

'Uh, something wrong mate?'

'Yes! Come with me if you want to live!' This however, wasn't startling at all. Sniper decided it was best just to get it out of the way.

'Really now? Oh dear.' It was a good thing that Soldier was too busy looking around conspiratorially to pay much attention to anything else, because Sniper wasn't a very good actor.

Soldier led him down the next corridor and stopped outside a shabby, unmarked door.

'We're not going into the supply cupboard again, are we? Ah yes, yes we are.'

This was the third time he'd been pushed into the little room where the cleaning supplies were kept. The first time it had been so Soldier could warn him that Engineer had remote controls that allowed him to change the water temperature at whim. The second, so he could alert Sniper to the possibility that Pyro might be a foreigner, a real life alien, or even possibly a _woman_. Of course, it had turned out the one about Engineer was true, so maybe he shouldn't write Soldier's theories and conspiracies off too soon.

'As a fellow American I am duty bound to warn you about Medic,' Soldier began. Sniper had tried pointing out that he wasn't American once. It had lead to a very long and confusing argument in which Soldier had announced that since he didn't have long ears and a tail he could balance on, he couldn't possibly be Australian. All attempts to point out to him that that was in fact kangaroos that he was thinking of were met with abject denial.

'The thing about Medic is that he's not what he seems. The man calls himself a healer, a doctor! He claims to have our best interests at heart, but this is a lie! A Smissmas stocking-filling lie! A lie told to children to hide them from the true horrors of life!'

Sniper was already feeling a bit lost, so he just nodded. He'd been told (by Medic, as it so happened) that when Soldier went off on one like this it was best just to let the man get on with it. And to just agree with everything he said. Even if that included agreeing to get up at 6 AM the next morning for his new fitness routine, because chances were he would have forgotten by then anyway.

'You know that he's cooking tonight?'

The marksman nodded again, wishing this cupboard was a bit bigger and that Soldier wasn't staring at him with quite such manic intensity.

'Well, there's a chance, a real chance that this so-called “food” he's preparing could be—'

_Poisonous?_

'Could be—'

_A mega-baboon heart?_

_Human flesh?_

'Vegetarian!'

'Oh.'

'Exactly! So you understand the danger that we are in?'

'Yes?'

'Good! So, here's the plan private. You get the beef, I'll get the bacon and we'll ambush Medic at the table. He can't fight back if we flank him.'

Sniper wasn't entirely sure if the plan was to attack Medic himself with the meat, or just to try and get it into whatever he was serving up. A way of dealing with the situation occurred to him.

'You know Soldier, I was talking to Medic earlier—'

'You were?' Soldier interrupted, eyes narrowed.

'Yeah. About dinner,' Sniper lied. 'And he assured me it's not going to be vegetarian. Definitely not.'

'Hmm. I just don't trust that man.'

'Why don't we go to the kitchen and che— I mean, run a reconnaissance mission?'

Soldier face lit up. 'Great idea private! That's some real American thinking right there!

He clapped a hand down on Sniper's shoulder in celebration. The marksman flinched at the unexpected contact, a flash of panic and adrenaline shooting through him. It was gone a moment later, but it left him feeling confused and disorientated.

Soldier didn't seem to notice anything wrong as he opened the door and headed back towards the kitchen, Sniper trailing behind him.

What had that been all about? There'd been nothing aggressive about Soldier's actions. Sniper had been looking straight back at the guy and seen his arm moving. And though Soldier could be more than a little odd at times, Sniper didn't have anything against him.

Then why-

_A hand gripping at his jaw, finger nails digging into flesh. A finger running down the scar on his cheek. Thin lips crushed against his own. His head, wrenched back. A body straddling him, pinning him down. A body below him, hips rising up to meet his-_

Sniper shuddered, as though a bucket of ice-cold water had just been dumped over his head. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to claw at his own skin. Maybe it wasn't so confusing why a brief moment of contact had shaken him so much. The BLU Spy really was getting to him, wasn't he?

Soldier burst into the kitchen and shouted, 'Medic!' Medic swung around to meet them, his hands instinctively moving into the positions they'd be in when using his medigun. He looked down at the wooden spoon he was holding and immediately moved his free hand to his mouth as he covered the motion with an awkward cough. 'Ah, Soldier. Anything I can do for you?'

'We need a report on the level of meaty-ness, pronto!'

'Meaty-ness?' Medic replied, staring at them blankly from behind his round glasses.

'He wants to check you aren't serving anything vegetarian,' Sniper explained, happy to join in the nonsensical conversation and leave his own troubled thoughts behind.

Medic sighed, but answered every question Soldier asked of him.

It turned out they were having diced chicken and bacon in their dinner. Sniper just hoped that didn't mean Soldier still wanted to do the beef ambush.

Eventually the American seemed satisfied with his answers as he stood to attention, saluted Medic with the wrong hand and announced, 'As you were private. Continue!'

Sniper watched him march out of the kitchen. Next to him, the doctor shook his head and sighed. 'He's an odd one, that man. Even for a Soldier.'

'Yeah?'

'They are often a little bit, ah, how should I put this? Out of touch with reality. He's harmless though, as Soldiers go.'

'How come you guys always give him the shopping list to look over?' Sniper asked, curious. He'd spotted Soldier sitting in the corner of the kitchen, his tongue sticking out as he ponderously read through the weekly grocery list and had always wondered why, since Medic or Engineer usually handled that kind of thing.

Medic shrugged. 'He likes to feel in charge. It makes him happy.'

'Oh, is that why he's the one who does the mail every morning?'

'Yes, exactly.'

Sniper had to admit that he was working with some real oddballs here at RED. He wasn't sure if he should be more concerned that he was working with such strange people, or that he seemed to fit in so well.

'Uh, Medic. You don't really do veggie stuff, do you?'

Medic sighed heavily. 'Not anymore I don't. It's just not worth the smashed plates and mashed potato all over the ceiling.'

 

No plates were smashed that meal time, nor was there any mash potato, on the ceiling or otherwise. It would have been a perfectly nice evening if it wasn't for Scout.

His opposite on the BLU team had managed to get a last minute domination on him, something that Scout was still fuming about as he dumped himself down at the table.

Sniper had done his best to try and avoid the boy since the end of the match, due to his habit of taking his mood out on the rest of the team in increasingly childish ways. A happy Scout was an annoying Scout, but he usually still made for all right company. A grumpy Scout, however, was not fun to be around.

'Pass me the salt, will you?' Demoman asked him once they were all sat down.

Scout rolled his eyes and shoved the salt a couple of inches closer. 'Pass me the salt, will you,' Scout echoed in an exaggerated attempt at an English accent.

'Yeah, that really didn't help,' Demoman said, looking across the table at the salt cellar.

'Yeah, that really didn't help!'

'Boy,' Engineer said, 'You sure are bad at that.'

'Boy, you sure are—'

'Shut it,' Engineer interrupted,waving his fork towards the boy in a threatening manner. It might have been more effective if it wasn't for the piece of broccoli speared on the end.

Sniper decided it was best to keep his opinions to himself, but he was pretty sure that reacting to Scout was just going to make him worse.

'Shut it!'

'Pah, you are very bad at this accenting!' Heavy said with a booming laugh. Scout repeated the line, his accent launching itself across the ocean and half of Europe but not quite making it to Russia.

'What was that, Ukrainian? Medic asked.

'What was that, Ukrainian?'

'Scout,' Medic began, sounding irritated, 'I don't sound anything like that.'

'Scout, I don't sound anything like that!'

'You are being childish,' Spy said.

'You are being childish!' It was Scout's worst attempt at an accent yet.

Spy wrinkled his nose in disgust as he put his knife and fork down.

'You are being childish.'

This time it was said in Scout's normal voice. But not by Scout.

Sniper and Heavy stared at Spy while everyone else but Scout burst out laughing.

'Hey, that's not fair!'

'Hey that's not fair!

'Fuck off Spy!'

'Fuck off Spy!'

'Ha! Did you hear what I just got you to say?'

'Ha! Did you hear what I just got you to say?'

'Way to give the boy a taste of his own medicine,' Engineer said, smirking.

There was a devilish glint in Spy's eyes as he opened his mouth. Catching on, the Texan managed to get as far as, 'Don't—' before Spy echoed his last words back to him flawlessly.

Sniper felt as though he his jaw was about to hit the table. There was something downright freakish about hearing someone else's voice coming out of Spy's throat. How could he manage it so flawlessly? It just wasn't natural.

Spy caught sight of him and grinned.

'How the hell—' Sniper started, before shutting his mouth hurriedly. Too Late. Spy's smile widened.

'How the hell—'

The others burst out laughing at Sniper's horrified expression. That had been his voice. _His_ voice. Sniper didn't dare say another word.

'Spy, you know that's damn freaky, right?' Scout said. 'Oh hell, here we go again...'

Over the course of the meal, Spy ended up impersonating everybody at least once, apart from Soldier who glared at him without saying a word. Maybe he thought Spy would steal his American-ness if he copied his accent.

Everyone found it funny when anybody but themselves being copied, though Pyro seemed to enjoy hearing his own mumbles echoed back to them. They ignored everyone else's hoots of laughter as they babbled on at Spy excitedly. Spy for his part was starting to look a little strained and his voice had gone rather croaky.

In the end, it was Heavy who defeated him by reciting a very complicated and long poem entirely in Russian.

'All right, all right,' Spy said hoarsely, switching back to his normal voice and slumping down into his chair. 'You win.'

Heavy held up his fork and pretended it was a trophy while giving an acceptance speech which involved thanking each of the other mercs in turn (apart from Scout) and wiping away imaginary tears.

Sniper wasn't paying any attention though. Once again, his thoughts were dragged back to the BLU spy.

_'You win.'_

That was the problem, wasn't it? Sniper hardly ever won their fights. He could get a fair amount of headshots on the guy and was even getting good at spotting him when he was disguised. But the minute the Spy was in the room with him, Sniper was set up to fail. He'd always avoided close-up fights when he was younger because all the other kids had been so much bigger and stronger then him. It wasn't fair that now he was losing again and again to a guy who was smaller and slighter than himself. He'd wrestled crocodiles, won a boxing match with a kangaroo and spent half his life breaking-in and taming other animals. But somehow the Spy kicked harder than any horse and was more slippery than any snake. The BLU simply knew how to fight. Sniper couldn't count the number of times he'd grabbed hold of the guy, only for him to escape a moment later. Or how many times he'd thought he was about to win a fight, only to find a leg hooking around his, sending him crashing to the ground, or fingers pinching into his arm in exactly the right way to make him drop his kukri.

The Spy was full of sly little moves and tricks that Sniper simply didn't know how to counter.

But there was one man who might.

He waited until dinner was over. It was Spy's turn to do the washing up. It wasn't as big a job as it sounded on account of them having a large, industrial style dishwasher. Sniper hung back on the pretence of just wanting to help out. He mustn't have been very convincing though because as soon as they were alone, Spy turned to face him expectantly.

'What's he been doing now? If he's gone and broken his agreement—'

'No, it's not that,' Sniper said, busy stacking plates into the dishwasher so he didn't have to look at Spy. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Sniper that his team mate knew exactly who he wanted to talk about, but somehow it was. Was Sniper really that much of an open book?

'It's more that I seem to be getting better at picking up on, you know, the little giveaways and stuff. I'm getting better at noticing when he's approaching. So that means we get into more fights. And I guess I don't always die from a backstab so maybe technically he's breaking the agreement or something but it's only 'cos he's trying to fight me off and stuff. But the thing is, I always lose. I never seem to be able to kill the slippery little bastard once he gets up close.' Sniper glanced around at Spy and then away again before continuing, 'I was wondering if you could, uh, help me with that. No one knows how a Spy thinks better than a Spy, right?

'I have received similar training in self-defence and hand-to-hand combat, yes,' Spy replied. There was a delicateness to his words that Sniper couldn't quite understand.

'Could you teach me?' His request came out too fast, too eager. Too desperate.

'I could try,' Spy agreed. Again, there was that carefulness to his words, but Sniper didn't notice. A spark of hope had just flickered to life in his chest and he didn't want to let anything put it out. Not when it was such a rare and precious thing.

He thanked Spy profusely, set a time and date for his first lesson, and left the room with a spring in his step.

 

Spy loaded the last of the cutlery into the dishwasher and then leant against the counter with a sigh. Why had he agreed to that? Why had he allowed himself to give Sniper false hope? He was so damn soft these days. A few years back and he would have just given it straight, told Sniper that he knew exactly what training the enemy Spy had been put through because he'd been through the same. He would have told him how the BLU had came first in every competition. Told him that those techniques take years of training to master. Told him that he would likely never stand a fighting chance. Not up close. Not one-on-one.

But instead he'd agreed to try and teach Sniper. A few pointers wouldn't go amiss. They might help him in other fights. Or might help him counter a couple of the Spy's moves. They couldn't hurt.

But they wouldn't be enough.

Especially when the agreement would be over soon. He didn't want to know what the BLU Spy had planned for their Sniper then.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But chances are, you do, so fingers crossed that the next chapter doesn't take me too long.


	28. Cue the 80's Movie Training Montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, I've done it once again. I expected this section to be about 1k words long and instead it's ended up as a chapter's worth of text.  
> So (again), the content I promised last time for the next chapter isn't actually going to make an appearance until the one after this.  
> Looking on the bright side though, you aren't going to be getting that bit any later, you're simply getting this bit much earlier than originally intended.

If there was one thing that Sniper could say about Spy's lessons, it was that they were certainly interesting. And very hands-on.

For some reason he'd been expecting lots of theory related stuff first, not for Spy to take off his suit jacket as soon as they got to the gym and turn around and say, 'Hit me.' Having seen enough of both Spy's fighting style, and movie training montages, Sniper was well aware he wasn't going to land the blow.

He wasn't, however, expecting to end up on the floor with his arm pinned to his back and a knee in his spine. Neither was he expecting the feeling of intense panic that followed.

Spy released him a moment later, leaving Sniper to shakily pick himself up and laugh it off. He didn't want Spy to know what a wuss he'd been about it. There were mats in this corner of the old gym that helped cushion his fall, though there was the added disadvantage that they smelt like feet.

'You telegraph too much,' Spy said. 'You give away your intentions before you get a chance to execute them. And you swing your fists too much when you punch; it helps you gather momentum but it gives your opponent extra time to react. You know how to use the rest of your body to add power to a punch though. That's good.'

Sniper nodded tightly. Despite avoiding them as best he could, Sniper had been in a number of fist-fights over the years. He wasn't sure how he felt about being told he was doing something as simple as throwing a punch wrong. The praise at the end was nice though.

It didn't take long for Sniper to forget his annoyance as Spy moved on to showing him exactly what he should be doing. To begin with, he felt awkward and kept glancing towards the door to make sure no one was watching them. As soon as he started to get the hang of it though, he became too engrossed to remember what he'd felt self-conscious about in the first place.

 

'First thing, make a fist for me. Good, hold it out.'

Gloved fingers touched his hand lightly.

'Thumb's on the outside, good. Wrist's straight, that's how you want to keep it. Now—' Spy tapped his knuckles. 'You want to lead your punches from here, especially the first two knuckles, not here,' he said, tapping the flat surface created by Sniper's fingers at the front of his fist.

The contact felt odd and made Sniper wanted to shift away, but he resisted the urge. It didn't make him panic though, which he was pleased about. Maybe Sniper wasn't as bad as he thought he was.

'Now, the best method to go for is a 'jab-cross'. Don't throw all your weight and energy into one punch. Use two tight, sharp punches like this.'

Sniper was about to point out that Spy had said he'd done good in putting his weight into the punch earlier, but before he got a chance Spy demonstrated what he meant.

His stance changed in a second, his right foot moving back and his body shifting so that he was facing Sniper diagonally, not forward on. His fists moved closer to his face and his head tilted down.

Sniper flinched back a moment later as two fists flew at him, one after another. The Spy hadn't been aiming to hit him though, if he had, Sniper was pretty sure he would have ended up on the floor again.

'See? Now you try.'

'Umm...'

Sniper wasn't entirely sure he _had_ seen really, the movement had been so quick. He tried his best to copy Spy's stance, only for Spy to shake his head and step in closer. 'You want to be more sideways on, that way you provide less of a target.' He put his hands on Sniper's shoulders and guided him into the right position, before stepping back to look him over again. 'Move your right leg back a little so it's not on the same line as your left. You'll be more stable that way. And don't lock your knees. You want to remain as fluid and agile as you can. Keep your fists firm and your attacks strong, but never tense up so much that you can't roll with a punch.'

'Uh, okay,' Sniper replied, wishing he had a chance to take notes. He was bound to forget all of this in about five minutes or so.

'Right, that's good. Bring your fists up a little higher. You want to be able to use them to defend your face. However, never punch someone straight on in the face yourself if you can help it. Skulls are hard; you're likely to do yourself more damage than your opponent.'

'What if you punch them on the nose?' That's what Sniper father had always told him to do.

'Breaking an opponent's nose is going to hurt, but it's unlikely to disable them. And it's only a small target, very easy to miss. What you want to go for is a couple of good, solid body-shots. Or if you've got the chance, go for the throat. A sharp blow to the throat can be crippling.'

Spy took up position next to Sniper, effortlessly adopting the stance that the marksman was well aware he was painfully over-thinking himself.

'Now, for your jab-cross.'

Once again, Spy's left fist shot out in a short, sharp punch, the right following it a moment later to strike the same space just below chest height.

'The first is to shock and disorientate. You know what it's like when one moment you're fine and the next, bam! Pain! The second follows through straight away but it uses your body's momentum to deliver a much more forceful strike. Try it.'

Sniper did. The first punch was easy enough, though he felt strange not putting more into it. The second was awkward, not reaching as far as the first because his current stance had his right shoulder further back than the left.

'The second strike is the one you put more into,' Spy said. 'Like what you did earlier. Watch.' He went through the jab-cross again, this time in slow motion.

 

'Really, the best thing to do when you go for the first strike is to step forward at the same time; it gives you more momentum and helps you get the punch in if they are trying to get away. But for now, we'll just concentrate on how you should be moving your right foot. Watch. See how I twist on the ball of my foot? See how that pivots my leg, and then my hip? And the movement travels up, through my body and into my shoulders. See? And this goes into the punch, extending your reach and the power of your cross. Always make sure that the twist comes from your foot and not your knees or you could injure yourself.'

He went through the same motions three more times, Sniper biting his lip in concentration as he watched intently.

'So you twist just on the ball of your foot, rather than all of it?'

'Yes, it makes the movement much easier. Plus, it's much better to be light on your feet than too solidly planted. You want to be able to step forward to attack or shift backwards out of range at the slightest provocation.

'Now, you try it.'

Sniper didn't move. Everything Spy had said was buzzing around his head. Such a simple thing as throwing a couple of punches had suddenly become a minefield of mistakes. There were so many things he had to think about. So many things he had to do all at once.

'Don't think about it Sniper, just do it.'

'Easier said than done,' Sniper grumbled, glaring down at his feet and trying to remember how he was supposed to position them again.

'Let's just go back to the basic punches, then I'll add things back in one a time.'

Sniper nodded and finally tried it again. To his surprise, he found his foot pivoting naturally. It was amazing what a difference it made. He didn't even have to think about it. His leg simply turned to follow the momentum, as did his hips and shoulders as he struck out with his fist.

'Ooh,' he said in delight, looking around. Had Spy seen that?

Spy's smile told him he had, though the marksman couldn't work out if it was a pleased smile or a smug one. Most likely it was a bit of both.

'Right, now the last thing I want to mention here. Watch my fist. See how it twists as I extend my arm? With this kind of jab you always want your knuckles to end up on top. The movement adds extra power to your attack and helps keep your wrist straight, also—'

He positioned himself in front of Sniper and punched him lightly. It was a slow, deliberate strike to the chest that the marksman could have easily avoided if he'd wanted to.

'So that was with my fist sideways.' He did it again. 'You can still feel the force behind it, but I'm hitting you with the flat of my fingers. Just how I told you not to earlier, remember? Now—'

He punched Sniper a third time. This time his fist twisted with the movement and Sniper felt the Spy's knuckles jab into him. Despite being as slow and steady as the other two hits, this one actually hurt.

'This way your fist tips a little more forward, allowing you to drive the first two knuckles on your hand into your opponent. It's much less likely to injure you, and a lot more likely to do damage to them. So, let's have another go, shall we?'

This time Sniper nodded enthusiastically. He was looking forward to trying this new technique out after feeling first-hand what a difference it could make.

By the end of the session they hadn't progressed any further than that one simple move but there was a spring in Sniper's step as he made his way back to his van. There was something about getting a bit of exercise and adrenaline going, while also learning something new and interesting, that had left him feeling tired but satisfied.

They spent the first half of the next lesson going back over what he'd learnt from the time before. Spy made Sniper recite back to him the reasons he'd been given for his actions, as well as repeating the actions themselves. 'There's no point in you doing something if you don't understand why you are doing it. If you know why you are doing something, it will make it much easier for you to translate it into other situations rather than trying to stick to rigidly to exactly what you've been taught.'

After that they moved onto hooks, and then onto attacks that used the arms but not the fists. Sniper had always heard that a lot of forms of martial art used the heel of the palm in their attacks, and that your elbows could make for extremely effective weapons. However, no one had ever shown him how to put either technique to good use, or explained why they were quite so effective. He soon began to understand what Spy had been talking about. Learning exactly why these things could be so useful really helped everything click into place.

During the third lesson they moved onto kicks. Spy seemed to have high hopes for Sniper in this department, on account of his unreasonably long legs, though he did warn the marksman that his high centre of gravity was not going to be helpful. Sniper's found that his balance wasn't always the best, but his reach was great. He decided that round house-kicks were his favourite, though he couldn't imagine himself ever making much use of them in real life.

In the last week before the agreement Spy had made with his counterpart ran out, they finally moved onto the section Sniper really wanted to know. Actual self defence. And it was horrible.

Spy pinned him again and again. To the wall. To the floor. On his back. On his front. Sniper lost track of how many times one of his arms was wrenched behind his back, and how many times he ended up face pressed into the mat.

Sniper was supposed to be using the techniques Spy had just taught him to escape, but instead he just panicked.

When he flailed and kicked and completely failed to get out of a simple hold for the fifth time in a row, Spy let go of him with a huff of annoyance.

'What is up with you this evening, Sniper? Are you even listening to me?'

'Yes,' Sniper said in a small voice, sounding to himself like a petulant child. He peeled himself off the mat but stayed staring straight down at it rather than looking at Spy.

'I'm just not very good with this stuff, that's all.'

That was certainly true. So much for thinking that the BLU Spy hadn't got to him as much as he thought.

'Is there something wrong, Sniper? You haven't been acting like this at all up until now. Is it something to do with the holds?'

'I—,' Sniper started, trying to work out what he could say that would give away the least information. There was so much shame and fear attached to the memories this session was conjuring up, and in truth, not all of them could be accredited to the enemy Spy.

'I just don't like being, you know, unable to get away and stuff.'

Spy nodded. 'And that's what I'm trying to help you with here.'

Sniper opened his mouth, tempted for a moment to explain exactly what the event that seemed to have triggered all this off was. But he didn't know how.

_'Sorry I'm freaking out on you but the last time I got this close to another human being it was the enemy spy and he tried to dry-hump me so apologies if I'm feeling a little sensitive at the moment.'_

Maybe not.

Spy decided to change tack and show him how to get out of a wrist-grab.

'See, your instinct here is to tense up and try and jerk away. Everything I'm trying to teach you is about stripping away your natural instincts and replacing them with more effective ones that will help you in real life. It's not as difficult as you would imagine; humans are quick to adapt and muscle memory will do most of the thinking for you once you've practised enough.

'So don't tense up; relax your muscles to reduce the width of your arm. Remember that you want to stay fluid and flexible, not rigid and unmoveable. And when trying to get out of a wrist-grab, yank sideways against where your enemy's thumb and fingers meet. That's the 'gate' a fist makes, and your key to getting away.'

A few minutes into practising that, a helmet appeared around the corner of the door, followed a moment later by the rest of Soldier.

'You two!' he barked. 'What are you doing?'

Sniper and Spy snatched their hands away from each other like teenagers caught getting up to no good by their parents.

'Training!' Sniper said.

Immediately, Soldier's suspicious frown transformed into a huge smile. 'Fantastic! Good work, men. Well then, carry on.' With that he disappeared again, whistling to himself as he headed back down the corridor.

'Hope he doesn't tell anyone,' Sniper said.

Spy raised an eyebrow. 'And if he does? I promise you Sniper that this really is a self-defence lesson and not an excuse I used to try and get you on your own.'

Sniper stammered a panicked response about how he knew that, his cheeks going bright red. Spy just snickered and shook his head at how easy his team mate was to wind up.

'Come on then, let's practice this a couple more times, then we'll see how you do with a more basic hold.'

Unfortunately, Soldier must have reported his finding to the rest of the team because Heavy appeared during the next lesson.

'Oh!' he gasped, putting a hand to his chest dramatically. 'Sniper, how could you!'

Sniper blinked confusedly at him from underneath Spy.

'Cheating on Medic like this! He will be so upset. Will most likely cry when I tell him. You are a terrible man, Sniper, to toy with doctor's heart like this.'

'Oh God, why did he have to bring that joke back?' Sniper asked once Heavy had disappeared off again. Spy gave him no answer, too busy curled up on the mat, snorting with undignified laughter to say anything.

'And how come he managed to burst in at the dodgiest looking moment possible like that Was he waiting outside the door or something?'

Spy nodded his head against the mat.

 

The next evening it was Scout who made an appearance, saying that he wanted to learn self defence stuff too. He didn't seem to notice that the other two men were clearly reluctant to let him join in.

As he watched Spy take off his shoes and jacket, he said with a grin, 'What, not going to roll your sleeves up or nothing, Spy?' The Frenchman gave him a cool look while Scout's face transformed into an innocently curious expression that even Sniper could see right through.

'No. The sleeves stay down.'

'Awww,' Scout whined. He kept bringing the subject back up again until Sniper, mystified as to why it mattered so much, asked, 'Why are you so desperate to get Spy to strip for you?' After a couple of minutes of heated denial, that managed to get Scout to shut up about the subject altogether.

That lesson ended up being a very unproductive one. Scout didn't have the longest of attention spans and had apparently been expecting to learn some much more dramatic looking moves. He ended up going rather off-script by putting Spy in headlock. He had about three seconds to crow triumphantly about it before Spy managed to flip the two of them over and pin Scout down beneath him.

Sniper had a good laugh about that until Scout tried to pull the same trick on him. They ended up scuffling on the floor, play-fighting in a manner that Sniper had rarely got the chance to when he was growing up, due to how much bigger and stronger than him all the other boys had been.

For once Sniper ended up on top, finally defeating Scout by sitting on him. By then he was breathless and laughing and grinning from ear-to ear.

'Such children,' Spy chided, but he was smiling too.

Though he didn't learn much that session Sniper certainly had more fun then expected. And later when he was looking back at it, he realised he hadn't panicked even once that evening. Maybe things were looking up at last.

 

They managed to get two more training sessions in before the deadline. Sniper desperately wanted just another couple of lessons, but after Spy had given up so much of his free time to teach him, Sniper couldn't begrudge the guy for wanting to go and spend the weekend with his girlfriend.

Spy had an impressive way of gushing about this woman without giving away a single detail about her. Nobody had any idea where she lived, what her name might be or even remotely what she might look like. Any questions, no matter how subtle or blunt, was directed away from the subject. Scout was the one who tried the hardest to wrangle information out of Spy but even questions like, 'Look, is she blonde, brown or black hair?' were met with purposefully unhelpful answers. In the case of that one, it had been a simple, 'Yes.'

 

Sniper lay awake that Sunday evening, going over all the techniques Spy had taught him during the last two weeks. They involved so many neat little tricks and tips, but all the same, Sniper wasn't feeling confident. Practising them in a safe environment was one thing, trying to use them against a man who was actively trying to kill him was another.

The enemy Spy had been suspiciously quiet since that strange little come-on of his. Maybe he was embarrassed about what he'd done. About what the Sniper had learnt about him. They'd mostly gone back to exchanging headshots and backstabs, giving Sniper no chance to put what he was learning to the test. He was glad though. Any opportunity to interact with the BLU Spy was one he would be happy to miss.

Sniper finally fell asleep just as the sun was coming up. He dreamed he was having another training session with Spy. Holds again. It soon devolved into play fighting, Sniper laughing breathlessly as he managed to flip himself on top.

'Got you!' he said with a grin. Spy smiled too, lying back on the floor instead of trying to get away, an odd look in his eyes. Sniper stilled, staring down at him. A strange kind of tension seemed to thrum between them that he swore hadn't been there a moment before.

Sniper stared at him. Curious. Hopeful. Then he leaned forward-

Only for Spy's face to melt away before his very eyes, revealing the BLU Spy's beneath it. Sniper watched in horror as the Spy grinned up at him with a mouth full of wickedly pointed teeth.

'Got you!'

The marksman tried to pull away but he couldn't move his arms or legs. The Spy's smile grew wider beneath him as two hands clamped down on his hips. Sniper wanted to cry for help. No sounds came out. The Spy's teeth filled his vision, wickedly sharp and closing in on him.

Sniper jolted awake with a yelp, hitting his head on the roof of his van. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the images from his head, and scratched at his neck where he swore he could still feel the phantom impression of fangs sinking into his flesh.

He didn't know which was worse, having a dream where the BLU Spy attacked him or one where he'd been about to try and kiss the RED Spy. That was going to make their next session so awkward. Especially since Sniper was pretty sure he wasn't into even into the guy, not like that. His subconscious sure had a lot to answer for.

He lay back down, staring up at the scuffed ceiling without really seeing it. He'd used to always sleep curled up on his side because really he was too tall for his bunk. Recently though he'd taken to always sleeping on his back.

Sniper just couldn't cope with leaving it exposed anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the boyfriend for lending me his proof reading skills.  
> I'd also like to thank the person who contacted me on Tumblr with their headcanon that Nath can't stand to sleep on his back anymore because it is beyond perfect.   
> Eeeexcept I can't actually remember who it was now. I'm so very sorry!


	29. By the Throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the other half of what was originally intended to be in the last chapter.  
> Warnings here for violence. Lots'a violence.

'You've failed! The enemy has captured our intelligence.'

Sniper winced as the Administrator's voice boomed overhead. That was two RED briefcases lost to their one BLU case captured. From what he'd heard Scout saying as he'd limped into respawn a few minutes earlier, they knew where the second case was but it was guarded by a level three sentry. He hoped someone had managed to get Spy or Demoman on to the task.

Sniper himself was heading through the network of buildings on the RED side of the bridge. He had a bad habit of forgetting exactly where each of their own cases would appear during the match, but he'd been pretty sure that their third and last one was going to be nearby.

A whirring, hissing noise attracted his attention as he darted into a barn. He got there just as an iron plinth finished rising out of the floor. On it was a plain wooden desk with a single RED briefcase on top of it.

Sniper still wasn't sure why he couldn't just pick the thing up and hide it somewhere nice and secure. On top of the roof maybe, or at the bottom of the ravine. But he didn't fancy attracting the wrath of the Administrator again, so Sniper decided to be a good little mercenary and leave well enough alone.

Instead, he climbed up a stack of old barrels and rotting hay bales off in the corner and pulled himself up onto a broken walkway halfway up the wall. It wasn't easy to do with his bow and quiver strapped across his back, and getting up into the rafters was even harder. Once Sniper was up there though, he was able to lean back against a crossbeam and get a good line of sight down on the two sets of barn doors.

Then it was a matter of waiting, an arrow nocked ready.

In the distance he could hear the sounds of rockets launching, sentry guns firing and men shouting. Some battle cries, some screams of pain.

But no sign of anyone approaching yet. Sniper hoped that Engineer would appear soon to guard the intelligence so that he could head back up onto the battlements.

Snipers were generally good at spending hours alone by themselves, watching and waiting, and the RED Sniper was usually happy to do so. Today, however, every time he got a moment to just stop and think, his thoughts were dragged straight back to the heavy dread that lined his stomach like lead, and to the source of it.

The agreement was over.

The BLU Spy no longer had to stick to neat backstabs and professional behaviour.

But Sniper hadn't seen any sign of him all match.

He'd resisted the urge to ask his other teammates if they'd ran into the backstabber at all, not wanting them to know how nervous he was. Not that many of them would have understood; as far as Sniper was aware, only he and Spy knew about the deal.

He couldn't stop himself from dwelling on all the nasty little things the BLU Spy might have in store for him. Luckily, he got a distraction in the form of the enemy Pyro. Usually, being in the same room as the flamethrower-wielding BLU always ended up the same way, with one serving of extra crispy Sniper. This time however, the marksman had the advantage of height and surprise.

In one swift movement he pulled the string of his bow taut and let fly an arrow straight at the Pyro. It hit the BLU square between the lenses of their mask. Sniper grinned to himself as the Pyro crumpled to the ground, that awful backburner of theirs falling out of their hands with a heavy clunk.

Right, so that gave him about twenty five minutes at most before the Pyro came back for revenge. Fingers crossed that Engineer, or any of his other teammates, arrived before then because Sniper did not want to be around for that.

 

The next ten or so minutes were spent in tense, boring silence. No sign of his team, but no sign of the enemy either as they ran around the map, playing the world's most dangerous game of hide and seek.

Eventually the BLU Demoman made an appearance, bursting into the room with his broadsword drawn. Sniper's heart lurched. Even here, safe up in the rafters, the Scot's battle cry put the fear of God into him.

Sniper fumbled the shot, sending an arrow into the Demoman's shoulder just as he seized the briefcase.

'Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!'

'I know!' Sniper spat as he snatched up another arrow. Below him the Scotsman made a run for it. And he almost made it. Just as he got through the door, Sniper sent an arrow flying into his back. The Demoman went sprawling with a low, 'oof!' of pain, the briefcase clattering to the ground in front of him.

'The enemy has dropped our intelligence.'

Sniper whacked his knee against a beam in his haste to get back down. He had to retrieve the intelligence and get back to his vantage point before anymore BLUs arrived.

Sniper was not in luck. He almost crashed head first into the enemy Scout coming the opposite way. There was an odd moment when the two of them froze, staring straight back at each other. Neither had attention to spare for the BLU Demoman dying at their feet.

Then Sniper dived out of the way as buckshot spat in his direction, searing a line across his left leg.

'Alert! The enemy has taken our intelligence!'

'Fuck!'

Sniper stumbled to his feet, hissing at the pain in his leg. He needed to shoot that damn Scout before-

Too late, he had disappeared around the corner of the next building.

'Fuck!' Sniper said again, louder this time and with more feeling. He limped as fast as he could after the Scout. There were a couple more buildings to go, then he'd reach the edge of the bridge and that'd give him a nice, clear shot at the escaping Scout.

There! The Scout was right there, dashing across the ground floor of the BLU base.

Sniper grabbed an arrow, fingers fumbling across the shaft of wood in his haste to nock it.

He drew back the bow, arm muscles straining.

Released it.

Saw the arrow fly towards his target.

And miss.

'Ah. Fuck.'

It had been so close; the arrow practically clipped the Scout as he turned the next corner. Sniper had no chance of getting another shot in, even if he could get the Scout in his sights again. Unless there happened to be a RED waiting for him, the Scout was going to get that briefcase to his team in the next few seconds.

So Sniper bravely turned tail and limped back towards the RED side as fast as he could. The humiliation round was about to begin.

It occurred to him later that it would have been better if he'd just committed suicide by throwing himself off the bridge.

'You've failed!'

Sniper flinched as his bow and arrow were snatched away into respawn without him. Both at the uncomfortable sensation it caused in his hands, and what the loss might mean for him.

But he hadn't seen any sign of the BLU Spy all match, so hopefully that meant his chances of finally running into him during the humiliation round were slim, right? Not that the Spy was the only one he had to look out for; the rest of the BLUs would be hunting for him and his teammates too. The Pyro might still be in respawn and if the Demoman wasn't in there already he'd be in no state to attack Nath. That just left seven other enemies, including a Scout who was most likely doubling back to look for him at that very moment. Just because Nath didn't like killing people during the humiliation rounds, it didn't mean that anyone else would spare him. Every single one of the BLUs had taken the opportunity to prove that to him at some point or other.

He managed to make it into the cover of the first building on his side of the bridge and glanced around to see if the Scout was heading his way. No sign of him.

A scuffling sound caught Sniper's attention but before he had chance to react, someone grabbed hold of a fistful of his hair and slammed his face into the nearest wall.

Once. Twice. Three times.

White sparks danced in front of his eyes as he reeled back; the pain stunning him for a moment. His legs felt unsteady beneath him but Sniper fought hard to stay upright, remembering that Spy had told him he must try and stay on his feet at all times during a fight. Once you were on the ground, that's when you were in real trouble.

The BLU Spy stood before him. Of course it was the fucking BLU Spy. He was breathing hard like he'd just ran a great distance, but there was a triumphant smirk on his face.

Sniper raised his fists to try and defend himself, mind working hard to recall any scrap of advice he could put into use right now. But it was hard to get his addled brain in order. All he could think about was that his teammate had been right about a strike to the nose hurting like hell but not putting you out of commission.

The blood starting to trickle down his face was irritating though. Sniper swiped his sleeve across his jaw to wipe it away.

The Spy chose that moment to attack again, jumping back in while the marksman was distracted, that wicked grin still plastered to his face.

Sniper tried to dodge out of the way, but the effects of the humiliation round left his movements slow and sluggish, and the recent blows to his head really couldn't have helped either. The Spy's right hook punched straight into his gut, sending Sniper stumbling back against the wall, old wooden boards creaking beneath him.

It took Sniper's muddled brain a second too long to make sense of what happened next. The BLU Spy moved in close and grabbed hold of his wrist. For a strange moment, Sniper thought that the Spy wanted to hold his hand.

The marksman tried to pull away but his injured leg buckled beneath him and he only just managed to stop himself from collapsing.

The Spy wrenched Sniper's right arm above his head.

And stabbed his knife straight through it.

Sniper's mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. Then shock was overwhelmed by pain. Wave after wave of it crashed over him, swamping his defences. He tried again to pull away, only to set off another burst of pain that brought back the little white sparks in front of his eyes.

It took him a moment to work out why he couldn't get away.

The Spy had nailed him to the wall by his palm.

His team mate's lessons were of no use to him now.

Sniper grabbed for the knife with his left hand, desperate to free himself no matter how much it would hurt.

'Oh no, we're not having any of that,' the Spy said, speaking up for the first time since he began his attack. He slid out another small knife from inside his jacket and made a grab for Sniper's other wrist.

It only took Sniper a second to work out the Spy's intentions. 'Oh! Fuck, no!' He gasped. He lashed out in the only way he could, with one of his knees. His knee smacked into the Spy's thigh, narrowly missing his intended target as the Spy sidestepped away.

The motion jarred Sniper's hand, the pain distracting him. The Spy snatched up the opportunity to step back in close and wrench Sniper's other hand up against the wall.

'No!' Sniper shouted, trying to pull himself free. He would have managed to if it hadn't been for the effects of the humiliation round.

If the Spy had told him to beg at this point, he would have done.

Instead there was an intense moment of dread, followed a second later by a solid, 'thunk' and pain so intense that Sniper almost passed out.

The Spy stepped away from him to admire his handiwork.

Sniper screwed up his eyes tight, head pressed back against the wall so hard it crumpled the back of his hat and off-set it at an odd angle on his head. He didn't want to open his eyes. Didn't want to see that gloating smile on his enemy's face. But he was too terrified of what the man might do next to keep them closed for long.

'Now this _is_ a sight,' the Spy drawled, looking the Sniper up and down in an exaggeratedly appreciative manner.

Sniper squirmed. He felt so vulnerable. So horribly exposed despite his clothes. He'd never been more aware in his life of the vital arteries that ran through his wrists, the soft flesh of his inner arms and the unprotected expanse of his belly.

Sniper tried to straighten up, hating to lose his height advantage on top of everything else. It was one of the few things he had over the enemy Spy. When he tried to though, the shift in his shoulder height sent a fresh bolt of pain through his palm. It seemed like any attempt to pull himself up would just hurt him more.

The Spy flicked away a spent cigarette and reached for a new one as he continued to watch. 'Now, Sniper. I've been going rather easy on you recently. I'm sure you've noticed.'

'Yes,' Sniper hissed through gritted teeth.

'And do you know why?'

'Yes,' Sniper repeated, wanting to prove to the Spy that it wasn't the secret he might think it was.

'Oh you do, do you?'

'Made a deal. With our Spy.' He could barely concentrate hard enough to string the words together; his whole world narrowed down to the twin points of throbbing pain in his palms.

'And do you know what he gave me in exchange?'

Sniper didn't say anything. He had no answer to give. His teammate had never told him that, had he?'

The Spy's smile grew ever wider. 'You.'

_What?_ How could the RED Spy 'give' him to the BLU? That made no sense.

'He gave me all the information on your file. Every word.' The Spy stepped in close, Sniper too frozen from pain and shock to even think about kicking out at him again.

'He gave me your name, Nathaniel.'

Sniper flinched. No one but his dad called him that. To hear the name come out of the Spy's mouth seemed indecent somehow.

'He told me where you were born. Who your parents are. When you moved to America. Your blood type. Your... sexuality.

'Everything.'

Sniper's legs began to shake. His heart beat uncomfortably fast in his chest.

The Spy knew. The Spy knew.

All because his teammate had told him.

How could he?

How could Spy reach out a hand and offer to teach him to defend himself, while secretly stabbing him in the back like this?

Sniper had trusted him. Trusted a Spy. What a mistake that had been.

He set his jaw and turned away, eyes screwed up tight again. There was a ragged edge to his breathing that wasn't just from pain anymore.

He heard movement. Something brushed against Sniper's bent knees. He flinched back, a small sound of pain escaping him as the movement jarred his hands. The blood running down from his wounds made his shirt stick to the back of his arms and shoulders.

He had to look around and open his eyes again, even though he knew he would hate the sight before him.

The Spy was taller then him for once, staring down at him, only a hand's width away.

'You are mine,' he said. He hooked his fingers under Sniper's jaw and ran the pad of his thumb up and down the raised scar on his cheek.

'I marked you. You are mine.'

Sniper stared at him. Somehow despite the intense pain he was in, his response came out surprisingly levelly. 'Um. No. No I'm really not.'

Without warning, the Spy's other hand came up and clamped around Sniper's throat. The Spy leaned his weight in, choking him. Sniper gagged, his eyes opened wide. Just as Sniper thought the BLU was going to try and throttle him to death single-handedly, the Spy let go. Sniper took a deep breath and winced at how crushed his throat felt.

The Spy ran the tips of his fingers lightly across the scar on the marksman's neck, sending a shiver down the Sniper's spine.

'Besides,' the Spy said, as though nothing had just happened. 'We match.'

He pulled his hands away from Sniper and reached for his own throat. He undid the top button on his shirt and began to loosen his tie.

For one terrifying moment, Sniper thought he was going to start striping off in front of him. Instead, the Spy left those two garments alone and did something even stranger. He tugged the bottom of his balaclava loose from under his shirt and began to roll it up his neck, in a dexterous, practised movement.

He stopped just as he exposed a fat white scar that snaked all the way around his throat in a single, straight line.

'See,' the Spy said, his voice oddly hushed. 'We match.'

Sniper swallowed hard as the Spy reached forward to rub his thumb along the side of Sniper's neck scar.

'I don't care,' he said, his voice hoarse from pain. 'I wouldn't care if we were born with matching birthmarks or if you knew my whole fucking family tree. I'm not 'yours'. I'm never going to have anything to do with you. I'm—I'm—.'

He gasped for breath, choking as the Spy's hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed. It wasn't enough to kill Sniper though, or even shut him up entirely.

'I'm my own person!' he rasped.

'No. No you really aren't,' the Spy said, 'You're just property of RED.'

'Yes! RED, not BLU!'

'It makes very little difference, I assure you.'

'Just— just. Fuck you.'

With that, he kicked out, hitting the Spy on the shin. The sudden motion tore at his palms even more, but it was worth it to hear the Spy's shocked swearing and to see him flinch.

But it came with consequences.

Instead of pulling away, the Spy pressed in closer, his hand tightening, while the other one reached up and grabbed hold of the knife thrust through his right palm.

He grinned down at Sniper and the marksman's eyes widened.

'Don't!'

The Spy twisted the knife sideways.

Sniper screamed.

 

'Hey so this is where all the noise is— holy shit! What the fuck, Spy?'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual thanks goes to the boyfriend for proofreading this, even though crucifixion of a sort really isn't his cup of tea.  
> The great art there at the end is by [bluebunny333](http://bluebunny333.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.  
> I've also created a blog called 'Foeyayfanart' where I'm going to post the pictures people have drawn for the fic to collect everything together, as there is other stuff as well elated to this fic that people have drawn.


	30. The Crux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a big thank you here to [donnez-moi-vos-vivres](http://donnez-moi-vos-vivres.tumblr.com/) for doing the art for this chapter, as well as [Adamonstro](http://adamonstro.tumblr.com/), [Skarkatsushmeow](http://skarkatsushmeow.tumblr.com/), [Ietranger](http://ietranger.tumblr.com), [Hotgrunkles](http://hotgrunkles.tumblr.com/) (this one is an over-due thank you!) and Jen-Jen...oh boy, this is not a phrase I expected to type today, [Jensenacklesdeliciousasshole](http://jensenacklesdeliciousasshole.tumblr.com/) for the amazing fan art you guys have done (all of which can be found [here](http://foeyayfanart.tumblr.com/)).  
> Seriously, it absolutely blows me away that there are such talented people out there who are choosing to spend some of their precious lives on art linked to this fic. All of you are amazing people, and so is everyone who has put aside the time to leave a review on the fic so far or sent me asks about it on Tumblr. You all get a gold star from me. A really nice, shiny gold star, possibly actually made of real gold.

The BLU Scout whistled as he surveyed the scene. 'Damn, Spy. This is some seriously fucked up shit, even for you.' He turned around and shouted back through the door, 'Hey, Medic, Demo, come look at this! Spy's gone and like, crucified the Sniper!'

The Spy hastily stepped away from Sniper and pulled at his mask to get it back into place. Medic appeared in the doorway, looked bored and tired. His expression changed the second he saw the RED. 'Oh. I didn't realise you meant alive.' He walked straight up to Sniper and peered down his nose at him. 'Fascinating.'

'Hey, this is him! This is the guy!' The Demoman shouted, jostling the Scout out of the way as he came into the room. 'This is the bastard that shot me.'

'Jah, the arrows were a giveaway,' Medic replied without turning around. Sniper bared his teeth at him and tried to kick the BLU when he got close enough.

'And this little bugger just ran off and left me!' the Demoman added, pointing at the Scout.

'Hey, I told you, I had to get the intelligence back to base. Who do you think won the round for us, Cyclops? Anyway, I came back, didn't I? Got you Medic and everything. Jeez, I'll just leave you to die next time.'

Clearly in a bad mood and feeling like he had something to prove, the Scout crowded in beside the Medic to sneer at Sniper. With Sniper unable to stand up fully, they were roughly the same height for once.

The Spy shifted behind them, scowling at their backs. But they ignored him.

'Hah, look at this guy.' The Scout poked Sniper with the end of his bat and laughed when he flinched. 'Not so tough now are you? Bet you wish you had your little bow and arrow now, don't yah?' He changed his stance and pulled his bat back as though winding up for a big strike. The Medic hastily backed out of the way.

'Bet you don't like it when I do _this_!'

He swung the bat around, aiming straight for Sniper's unprotected belly.

And stopped just an inch away. Sniper gasped and flinched so badly that the motion jarred both of his hands. Static flickered across his vision as the Scout let out a bray of laughter. 'Man, did you see that? Oh God, he practically shit himself! Pthhh, I could do this all day!'

'Ha! Move your arse over, Scout.' The Demoman pressed in, drawing his claymore. He swept it around in a large, dramatic manner, grinning as fear flashed across Sniper's face.

Like the Scout, he aimed for Sniper's middle, but unlike him, he didn't pull the blow in time. The end of the blade stabbed into Sniper, making him cry out in pain.

'Oh come on, Demo, don't finish him off yet,' Scout said.

'Oops,' the Demoman said lightly, tugging the blade free. 'Didn't mean to do that.'

'Ah, fuck! Just—just hurry up and kill me already!' Sniper said.

He'd never been great at talking to strangers, and talking to people who his only past interactions with had involved them trying to murder each other, was even worse. But the amount of pain he was in had reached truly excruciating levels and he just wanted it all to end.

Unsurprisingly, none of the BLUs were interested in what Sniper wanted.

The Medic was watching the Spy superstitiously smooth out wrinkles on the neck of his balaclava. 'We didn't interrupt anything did we?' he asked innocently.

'Hardly.'

'You weren't planning on giving him another scar to go with that one?' He gestured towards Sniper's face.

'No!'

The Medic chuckled to himself, but if there was a joke there no one else got it. 'You know,' he said, his eyes flitting between the Spy and his captive. 'I can't decide if you really hate this man... or really like him.'

The Scout laughed and prodded Sniper with the end of his bat. 'This your boyfriend, Spy?'

'No,' Spy snapped, at the exact same time as Sniper spat, 'Fuck off!'

That just made the Scout laugh more.

'Always knew you were an odd one,' the Demoman added, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment.

'I think you might be missing the subtle difference between “nailing someone” and literally nailing them to the wall here,' the Spy replied coolly. 'I can assure you that stabbing people is what I do for a job, not for foreplay.'

'Whatever you say,' the Medic said with a small, disbelieving shake of his head. The Spy glared at him.

As easily distracted as ever, the Scout had already turned his attention back to Sniper. 'Hey, doc, how many swings of a bat would it take to break like, all of a man's ribs?'

'You know, Scout, that's one experiment I've never tried before. I think there should be just enough time left in the humiliation round for us to do a trial run.'

'Awesome.'

Sniper's whole body tensed as the Scout carefully wound up for his shot. He was making a big show out of it, the smirk on his face giving away how much he was enjoying his enemy's fear.

They say the wait is the worst bit. It was certainly awful, but there was no way it could ever compare to the blow when it finally came.

Sniper let out a shout of pain as the bat struck his left side. He felt something inside him splinter and the next breath he took came with a horrible stabbing sensation. His hands clenched involuntarily and for a brief, beautiful moment, he thought he was about to pass out. Then the black static across his vision faded again, leaving him with the sight of three BLUs grinning at him. Behind them, the Spy's expression was unfathomable as he watched the proceedings.

And then a shape moved into sight beyond him. Sniper narrowed his eyes, focusing in on it as the Scout pulled back for another blow. Sniper laughed to himself, a weak little wheezing noise that jostled his broken and cracked ribs.

Now there was a sight he'd never ever expected to be glad to see.

 

_**Bang!** _

 

'Shit! What the fuck?' The Scout yelped, jumping back from the sudden spray of blood and brain matter. He turned around to find his team's Sniper framed in the doorway, rifle in hand. 'What the fuck did you go and do that for, couldn't you see he was mine?'

'Yours to torture?' the Sniper asked, his voice level and calm.

Scout cringed. 'Oh come on man, we were just having a bit of fun, that's all.'

The Sniper, with his weathered face and salt and pepper hair, was the oldest member of the team, and the longest serving. If the BLUs were to be asked who the leader was among them, none would ever be able to agree. All the same, the Sniper's opinion was the most universally accepted, though he rarely gave it. Even the Spy had a grudging respect for him, despite not liking him. The Canadian hated spies more than any other sniper he'd ever met.

Behind them the corpse of the RED Sniper sagged to the floor, the dead weight finally enough for the knives to rip free of the hands with an unpleasant, gristly noise.

'Hmm, not such an appealing sight now, is he?' the Medic muttered to the Spy, a faint smirk on his lips. The Spy's jaw tightened but he didn't reply.

The Demoman wisely stayed out of both conversations. Arguments between members of the BLU team were common, and boring. 'Well, now that's over, might as well head back,' he said to no one in particular.

'Everyone says we're better than those damn REDs, right?' The Sniper said, ignoring him. 'Well I'm pretty sure that's bullshit, we're just as bad. But then you go and do shit like this and I really start to wonder. I mean, hardly professional, now is it?'

'Oh come on, Sniper,' the Scout whined, 'It's not like I started this, Spy did.' Both of them turned their attention on the Spy, who looked up from lighting a cigarette and shrugged, showing no particular signs of remorse.

'Yeah, I could tell that from the knives. But you joined in.'

'I didn't,' Medic said, waving his arms dismissively. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I've got better things to be getting on with than listening do a lecture on your dubious morals, Sniper. Especially when you're standing up for a RED. Then again, I guess you've got more reason than most to want protect another sniper from the likes of...' he trailed off, glancing pointedly at the Spy glaring back at him.

'I wasn't protecting any damn REDs!' the Sniper snapped as the Medic left. 'I was just putting a dog out of its misery.'

The Medic didn't bother turning around or replying, and the Spy said nothing either as he went to retrieve his knives. Though the RED Sniper's body had already faded, he avoided standing where it had been as he wrenched his weapons back out of the wall.

'You were doing so well there for a while, Spy,' the Sniper said. 'What brought on this sudden return to unprofessionalism?'

The Spy's eyes widened a fraction. He covered his reaction by putting on an innocent expression and saying, hand on heart, 'I have no idea what you could possibly mean by that. I just gave him what he had coming to him.'

'Sure you did.'

'Well, it's been just wonderful standing in the middle of a barn, talking to you, but as I have nothing more to do here, I think I'll be off as well.' He gave them a mocking little half-bow and swept out the room.

The Scout turned to go after him.

'Scout—'

'Don't you fucking dare start lecturing me again, old man! Bet you've done shit a thousand times worse than messing with a RED like that! And it's not like it really mattered 'cos he's gonna respawn in like, ten minutes and be a hundred percent fine, and—'

'Scout. What would Engie say?'

The BLU Scout turned and glared at his teammate. Then all at once he seemed to deflate. 'You're not going to tell him, are you?' he asked, twisting his bat around and around in his hands.

'Nah.' The Sniper glanced back at the two gouges in the wall where the knives had been. The faintest tint of red-brown ringed them still. 'Scout, walk with me.'

The Scout shrugged in response and reluctantly fell into step with the Sniper as he made his way off towards the teleporters that took them back to their base on the nights when they won. It was fully dark now outside now, and they walked beneath scattered pools of harsh neon light as they made their way home.

'Tell me, Scout, what exactly was, uh, Spy up to when you found him? Or did one of the other two get there first?'

'Pthh, 'course it was me who got there first!' he scoffed. 'So, right, Demo tried to get the briefcase but that RED asshole was shooting his little bow and arrow around and he got Demo. Then I came charging in and shot him! That Sniper, I mean, not Demoman. Then I ran, like, the fastest I've ever gone, probably broke some kind of world record! I got the final briefcase back—by the way, I got all three this round so I am the undisputed hero of the match—then I went back to find Demo because I'd seen he was still alive before. I spotted Medic on the bridge and got him to come help Demo and then went looking for the RED Sniper myself because he'd been chasing after me right near the end. What an idiot, like he ever stood a chance of catching up with me! But anyway, I found him except the Spy had managed to get to him first and stuff.'

The Sniper just nodded as he listened, having found out long ago that it was always best to let the Scout get to the important bit of a story in his own time.

'Man, it was weird, you know? Like I know Spy can be a total dick and all but I've never seen him do anything like that. I got there just as there was this really loud shout or yell or scream or whatever you'd call it, from the RED. Spy was all leaned in close to him. Seriously, why would anyone want to get closer to a RED than they need to be? And I don't know if he'd only just stabbed one knife in or if he was moving it about or something to hurt the RED, but his other hand was definitely already pretty much nailed to the wall.

'It was such a weird sight that I kind of called Medic over to have a look without really thinking about it.' The Scout shot a sideways look at his teammate. 'I wasn't really planning on doing anything after that. Just got carried away or something. You know, 'cos of the victory and stuff.'

He saw the Sniper nod thoughtfully and a little knot of tension in his chest that he hadn't even noticed before, loosened.

His relationship with the Sniper was a hard one for the Scout to pin down, not that it was something he'd ever spent time thinking about. The guy was just there, grouchy, distant, and unapproachable. But after Engie, he was the only BLU the Scout particularly liked.

Pyro was weird and hostile (especially to the Americans on the team) and probably not even human. Soldier hated any signs of happiness and seemed to want them to all match the grim-faced war vets in the movies he watched again and again. Medic was just creepy, and dangerous and Scout was pretty sure he'd caught the guy staring at his ass more than once. Heavy paid attention to no one but Medic and had no time for the likes of Scout. Demo was all right when sober but could get real nasty when drunk and had a habit of saying things that struck far too close to home. And Spy was just an aloof asshole who thought the rest of the team was beneath him, Scout especially.

But then there was awesome Engie who actually did stuff like talking to him and even better, _listening_ to him and who didn't treat him like dirt or ignore him or make snide remarks about him or punch him if he was being too loud.

And then there was also Sniper. Grumpy and quiet, yeah, but he'd still give the Scout a chance. And Engie respected him, so the Scout did too. He remembered Engie saying once something about, 'that Sniper of ours doesn't talk much, but when he does, he's usually got something to say that's worth listening to.' So the Scout did, even when he was pretty sure he was about to get told off like a badly behaved child.

'You know,' the Sniper said eventually. 'I think it's a good thing you found the RED, and probably a good thing you got the other two to come over as well.'

'Yeah?' the Scout asked, waiting for the catch.

'Yeah,' the Sniper agreed. He slowed his pace and glanced around, even though there was no one in sight, and sighed heavily.

'Yeah I do. The thing is Scout, I think if Spy had been left to his own devices... I think... Well, I think there's a very good chance he might have assaulted that RED,'he said, absent-mindedly scratching at the scars on his cheek.

Scout snorted. 'Assaulted? How much more assaulted can you get than being pretty much crucified?' Even he could hear the note of doubt in his own voice.

'You know what I mean, Scout.'

'Oh come on, as if! I mean—How? Why? Like, Spy's into the ladies. Everyone knows that!'

Engie always assured him that the Spy was lying to try and get to him, but the Scout knew deep down that those nasty comments he'd made about sleeping with his mother were true. He'd never corrected Engie though, and never confessed that he knew what his mum did as a night job.

'Being into women doesn't stop you from being into guys too.'

'But I mean like, Spy? No way. And with a RED? Seriously, not a chance!'

Sure. He'd gone along with Medic's joke, but it had been just that, a joke. Right?

'Scout, I see a lot of stuff down my scope—'

The Scout snorted again.

'A lot of stuff on the _battlefield._ And I can tell you that our Spy has been acting weird around that one RED. I've seen kills that are unprofessional even for him. And sometimes I'll spot him going into a room after the Aussie but then take ages to actually get around to killing him.

'So you're telling me that he's disappearing into that Sniper's nest so he can do stuff with him?' The Scout asked, his face twisting into a look of disgust as unwanted images started to pop up in his head.

'Huh, trust me, if it's what I think might be going on, it's less a “with” and more of a “to”.

The Scout shook his head. 'Nah man, that can't be right. I mean, have you actually you know, urgh, seen them at it?'

'No,' the Sniper admitted after a moment as he shifted his heavy rifle from one shoulder to the other. 'I've seen our Spy get all up and close and in the enemy Sniper's personal space, and I've seen him pay the RED way more attention than he should be doing, but I haven't actually seen anything like that. Thank God. Hard drink can only help you forget so much.'

'Nah man. I don't buy it,' the Scout said, swinging his bat loosely and looking at it rather than his teammate. 'I mean, you've seen that Sniper right? Like, he's not all fat and ugly like their last one but he's just some guy, you know? Nobody would want to, well you know. If Spy was that kind of creep—which actually kind'a wouldn't surprise me now I think about it—he'd hardly go after another merc, would he?'

'You think it's only pretty young blonde ladies in skimpy clothes tottering home from the club at three in the morning that get raped, don't you?'

The bat slipped from from the Scout's grip and went clattering over the concrete. He took longer than necessary to retrieve it but when he turned back, his teammate was exactly where he left him. The Sniper was standing right at the edge of the beam of light from a lamp far above him, dark shadows cast across the scarred side of his face. Waiting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In between the last update and this one I uploaded a one-shot set in Chaosandmayhem's Machines Don't Bleed universe, if that's of interest to anyone. It includes a couple of (fully endorsed) hints about stuff that's yet to come in the fic.)


	31. The Shades In Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [Malison Quill](http://malisonquill.tumblr.com/) for doing the illustration for this chapter! And a thank you to [sniperxspyforlife](http://sniperxspyforlife.tumblr.com/) for doing some fan art as well. Both can be found on my tumblr blog, foeyayfanart.

_'You think it's only pretty young blonde ladies in skimpy clothes tottering home from the club at three in the morning that get raped, don't you?'_

_The bat slipped from from the Scout's grip and went clattering over the concrete. He took longer than necessary to retrieve it but when he turned back, his teammate was exactly where he left him. The Sniper was standing right at the edge of the beam of light from a lamp far above him, dark shadows cast across the scarred side of his face. Waiting._

The Scout looked away from the Sniper and shrugged, making a non-committal noise.

'Well it's not. It's kids who've been told by their uncles or their cousins or their parents that if they say anything, everyone will blame them for it. It's people with disabilities that can't say no when that oh-so-caring-carer does stuff that the rest of the world is convinced they'd never do. It's guys in prison, yeah. But it's soldiers in the army too. And it's local kids in places that men in the army are supposed to protect. Commanding Officers that you can't say a damn thing about because it's just your word against theirs.'

There was a fervour to his voice that the Scout had never heard before, not even that time when he got so angry at the Medic that they ended up sending each other through respawn.

'And yeah, sometimes it's a pretty lady in dark alleyway late at night,' the Sniper continued. 'But more often than not her attacker's going to be a friend or a relative, not some creep hiding in the bushes or around the corner. And maybe it's happened to her before when she was fourteen and completely covered up because it was a cold winter. And maybe it happened to her once when she'd had a bit too much to drink, but not enough to explain why she couldn't move, let alone fight back. And maybe it's going to happen to her again when she's in her fifties and takes a shortcut home by herself.

'That kind of shit could happen to anyone, Scout.'

The Scout had desperately wanted to up and leave ever since the Sniper started talking, but he felt frozen in place, his bat clutched so tightly in his hands that the tendons stood out. He didn't understand why his teammate was talking about _this,_ let alone why he was telling it all to him. It had nothing to do with the Scout. He wasn't ever going to do something like that to a girl and he sure as hell wasn't going to do it to a guy either.

And he wasn't ever going to be a victim of it.

'Not anyone,' he argued. 'Not me. Any creep want a piece of this and I'll smash their heads in!' He swung his bat through the air at an invisible target with as much strength as he could muster. Usually it was anger or aggression or adrenaline that went into the swing, this time it was a prickly, unsettling feeling that he didn't have a name for.

The Sniper looked as though he was about to say something, but in the end just sighed.

'But why,' the Scout started, 'Why that Sniper? I mean, why not some pretty girl? And it's not like he'd even have to do anything, you know, bad, to get a girl to sleep with him, if the stuff he says is anything to go by.'

The Sniper clicked his tongue, always a sign that he was feeling irritated. The Scout shoved his free hand in his pocket and hunched his shoulders. It had been an honest question, not an argument.

'You even been listening to what I'm saying?'

'Well yeah. Else I wouldn't be asking you questions about it, would I?'

''Cos this stuff's rarely about looks, that's why. Hell, it's rarely even about attraction! I mean, for all I know the Spy could have some kind of weird, nasty crush on the guy, but he doesn't need to have. Not for this.' The annoyance in his voice slipped away as he spoke, replaced by a kind of world-weariness. 'Think about it, Scout. Murder's hardly the worst thing you can do to a man when he's going to pick himself up again fifteen minutes later and continue with his day. And here 'domination' is just a little note on your scorecard at the end of the day. So what's it going to take to truly and utterly beat a guy? What's going to stay with him if all his injuries disappear as though they never even happened? What do you have to do to feel as though you've really dominated someone once and for all?'

A long silence followed as the Scout tried to work out if he had any kind of response to that. 'That's really messed up,' he muttered eventually, staring at a tuft of grass sticking out of a crack in the concrete.

'Yeah, yeah it is,' the Sniper agreed. He started walking again. The Scout let out a sigh of relief. He'd been trying to think of a polite way to get them moving again for a while now. The Sniper didn't seem to be in the kind of mood where a rude one would go down well.

'How do you even know all this stuff?' the Scout asked. The Sniper didn't seem like the sort of guy who'd ever need to give this subject much thought.

His teammate seemed to deflate, his shoulders slouching and his head dropping forward. 'When you've been in this business as long as I have, you end up coming across the very worst of humanity,' he said quietly. 'Christ, the things I've seen, kid. And now I'm working a regular weekday job where I pop the heads off the same nine guys day in and day out. Sheesh. Who would have though it?' He shook his head, as though the whole wide world was too much of a mess for him to ever understand.

They reached the teleporters. There were three of them, all spinning idly and glowing faintly blue. No one else was around, most likely having all gone through already. The Scout had a strange feeling that once they stepped through, everything would change. He wouldn't be able to forget this conversation; it was one that would weigh too heavily on him for too much time to come for that to ever happen. But he was pretty sure that once they got back to base, the Sniper would never talk about the subject again, or ever bring up this conversation. And the Scout would be happy to put it behind him. The subject matter was not a pleasant one to dwell on.

He paused, just before he entered one of the teleporters. He'd be happy to get away from this, but all the same he felt the need to give the Sniper the chance to say something more on the matter if he wanted. Which he apparently did.

The Sniper sighed again. 'Look, I hope I'm wrong about this. I really hope I'm damn wrong about our Spy. But I'm going to be keeping an eye on the situation all the same. I don't give a shit about killing REDs, hell I've dominated their new Sniper more times than I can count, but that doesn't mean I'd ever let one of my teammates get away with trying anything like that. If I ever catch Spy... well, _he's_ not my Commanding Officer.'

With that he gave a firm, decisive nod and stepped towards the middle teleporter.

'Sniper!' the Scout called before he could stop himself. There was something that had been bothering him before this conversation had even started, and he knew that if he didn't ask now, he never would.

The Canadian stopped and turned to face him.

'Am... am I one of the bad guys?'

As expected, the Sniper laughed at him, but only for a moment. Then something in his features softened.

'No, Scout, you're not. Now I wouldn't say any of us are exactly 'the good guys', but you're young, and you've got the potential to take the money you've earned here and really make something of yourself one day. Engineer's been teaching you some stuff too, hasn't he?'

'Uh, yeah,' the Scout replied, hoping the Sniper thought it was advanced engineering or something, not the basic maths and English he'd never learnt thanks to how often he'd bunked off school.

'Good, you listen to Engineer. If he can't help set you up for something better than this place, no one can.'

The Scout didn't like thinking of life after his contract ended. It was too far away, and too uncertain. He knew one thing for sure though, by working here he was earning enough to make sure his mother never had to take up her old career ever again.

'It's just that, you know, what you were saying earlier. About us being as bad as the REDs?'

'I don't go saying it around the other guys much, but yeah the way I see it, RED or BLU, we're all just mercs working for money. With the odd exception, we're pretty much all as bad as each other.'

'Don't let Soldier hear you saying that,' Scout warned. It was the closest he could get himself to admitting he didn't like that kind of talk either.

'Course not. I want to keep my balls, thank you very much. But...'

He sighed again and shook his head.

'It's a pity you had to end up on this team, Scout.'

The Scout tensed, biting his lip. His immediate reaction was to want to defend the team. His second was to keep quiet and let Sniper validate the complaints he had about them.

'It's not supposed to be like this. A team is supposed to be, well, a _team_. I'm not saying we're all meant to be blood brothers or that we should be gathering to sing songs around a campfire every evening—'

The Scout snorted at the image and the Sniper's lips twitched into a momentary smile too.

'But BLUs are supposed to have each other's backs. I've worked with four or five separate teams in my time, and seen dozens of people come and go. You nearly always get a couple of rotten eggs in the basket but never this many. Hell, ours seems to be a whole team full of them!'

'Not Engie!'

'Yeah all right, not Engie. But honestly? I'm used to being the grumpiest, most stand-offish guy on the team. The rest of ours practically makes me look like the patron saint of compassion and approachability. So yeah, I'm sorry this is the team you had to end up on. I'd suggest you file for a transfer but I'm guessing you want to stick with Engineer?'

'Yeah. Because you know, he's cool and stuff.'

The Sniper's lips pulled into a proper smile at the Scouts attempts to downplay his bond with the Engineer.

'Why don't you transfer if you don't like the team?' the Scout asked. 'You're not on Contract Zero or anything are you? So you could if you wanted to.'

'Yeah, but someone's got to keep an eye on the lot of you. That Spy especially.' With that he made a pointed glance towards the teleporter.

'See you back at base, eh?'

The Scout watched him go, and took his time following through after the Sniper. He'd been given a lot of stuff to mull over- and, when he was ready, go and talk to Engineer about.

He thought about the time the RED Sniper had seen him during a humiliation round but not killed him, and decided that maybe, just maybe, he should return the favour. Regardless of if his teammate's worries were real or not.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after the humiliation round ended, respawn spat out the RED team. Spy immediately headed over to Medic, slightly unsteady on his feet from being trapped in the system for a while, but grinning all the same. 'That,' he announced, 'was fantastic.'

Medic nodded at him, laughing. 'Yes! I don't even care we lost, the look on his face was worth it!'

'What happened?' Demoman asked.

'I ubered the Spy,' Medic replied proudly.

'And we took on the enemy Heavy and Medic!' Spy added.

Engineer shook his head. 'You should have ubered me instead, Doc. I wouldn't have let the Medic get away.'

'You were busy with your sentry, and Spy was free.'

'It was the last thing they were expecting,' Spy said, a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.

Heavy folded his arms and gave as grumpy huff. 'Should have ubered me.'

Medic flapped a hand at him. 'You were busy being dead. Besides, it pays to mix your tactics up a bit every now and then. Hey, maybe next time I'll uber the Sniper!'

Sniper looked up, startled. 'What?' He'd been staring down at his hands, completely unaware of the conversation going on around him.

'You want to get ubered next match?'

'Umm, I don't think that's a very good idea,' he answered honestly, rubbing the thumb of his right hand across the palm as his left. No wound, no knife, no pain. It was as though the humiliation round had never happened.

'Ah, kill-happiness. No that's not right. Kill...kill.'

'Joy?' Spy suggested.

The conversation continued as the mercs packed away their belongings and picked up their scorecards. Sniper drifted back into his thoughts. Respawn had suppressed the last few seconds of that life for him, but he thought he remembered seeing the enemy Sniper framed in the doorway. That BLU really seemed to have it out for Sniper with the amount of times he'd headshot him. If he was looking to prove he was the better sniper of the two, his domination count would certainly indicate so. The marksman was catching up though as he learnt the best hiding places and picked up on the BLU's tricks. All the same, some days he didn't know who killed him most, the enemy Sniper or Spy. But he certainly knew which he hated the most.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Sniper flinched.

'Oops, sorry Sniper!' Spy said. He was still smiling faintly, amusement twinkling in his eyes. 'You want to practice a bit more self defence tonight? I found an old punch bag and was thinking—'

'Nah,' Sniper interrupted. 'Not tonight.'

_Or any other night,_ he wanted to add.

_There's no point. And I don't think I ever want to spend time alone in your company ever again._

Spy blinked at him blankly for a second before replying 'Ah, fair enough.'

Sniper almost felt sorry for him. Almost. If Spy had wanted his friendship, he shouldn't have gone and given away all of his secrets to his worst enemy.

'I do!' Scout shouted. 'And Pyro does too!' he added, tugging on Pyro's arm.

There was a muffled but enthusiastic 'Huh du!' from inside their mask.

'Umm,' Spy replied. The two stared back at him with puppy eyes. Well Scout did at least, it was hard to tell with Pyro. 'Well...all right then. I don't see why not.'

'Wooh! Make sure you just do the cool stuff though, I want to know about pressure points and how to kill a man in one strike and stuff!'

'Huh hu huddah huh de?'

'No man, course not. Anyway, that suit would probably protect you.'

'Hud.'

'Well actually...' Spy started. Sniper turned away from them and tuned out the rest of the conversation.

He'd trusted Spy.

 

It was a few hours later that something else occurred to him. He was in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and talking to Scout as Demoman worked on dinner in the background and Spy read a newspaper at the table.

'So like, no sugar at all?' Scout asked, looking at Sniper's mug in disgust.

'Nope.'

'And no milk either?'

'Nah, I like my coffee black.'

Demoman turned around, spatula in hand and called over, 'Like his men!'

Sniper, who'd just been taking a swig of hot coffee, choked. Scout let out a bray of laughter, and at the table, Spy snorted with laughter. It was an undignified noise that all the other mercs knew he hated and so tried to get out of him as much as possible. Normally it would amuse Sniper to hear it, even at his own expense but this time realisation hit him like a bucket of cold water.

_His sexuality._

That's one of the things the BLU Spy had mentioned. He'd said the RED had told him about Sniper's sexuality.

Which meant his teammate knew that he had an interest in men. Where would he have got that information? And he knew about the girlfriends and fiancée, right? But which incident would he have heard about? Which guy? Jacob or Carl? Jacob most likely, no one knew about Carl. No one knew.

'You all right there, Sniper?' Spy asked.

Sniper nodded and coughed, feeling as though there might still be some coffee sitting at the bottom his lungs.

And that joke Spy had made last week during one of his self-defence classes, that one about reassuring Sniper he wasn't trying to get him alone. What if that hadn't been a joke at all? What if it had actually been him hinting that he knew Sniper's little secret? What if it had been a way for him to express his disgust? What if-but no, he wouldn't have agreed to teach Sniper something that involved one-on-one contact with him if he was afraid Sniper might start hitting on him, or get more out of their lessons than intended.

Sniper just didn't know what to make of the whole mess, and he certainly wasn't going to go to Spy for answers. Even though there was a heavy, empty feeling in his chest, and one question echoing around his head. How? How could Spy have betrayed him like that?'

That night he ate dinner as quickly as he could and escaped back to his van. Usually when he was in a bad mood, he'd start to doodle. Something about drawing always drew him so far in that he'd forget about the rest of the world and all his troubled for a little while.

But tonight he just felt too tired. Despite it being earlier than normal, Sniper hauled himself up into the alcove he slept in above the cab. He buried himself in his covers and sighed. Things would look better in the morning, he was sure.

* * *

Over in the BLU base, the Spy flipped his balisong between his fingers, over and over again, his eyes unfocussed.

Every time. Every damn time they just had to be disturbed. It wasn't fair.

He'd been so good the last few weeks and all he'd wanted was just- the balisong flipped open one more time and then stilled.

He'd been so good the last few weeks. But he'd also been working on something, hadn't he? And now the agreement was over.

The Spy stared down at the knife in his hand. His eyes narrowed calculatingly. And then a slow smile stretched across his face.

Now _there_ was an idea.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme song for the next chapter- [Killer by The Hoosiers.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BK0zRR3GnxE)


	32. Under Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been over a month since I last updated. I'm really sorry about that, guys! May was an extremely busy month for me and I just didn't have the time or energy for fic writing. I did get to go to MCM Expo in London though! It was really cool getting to meet fellow TF2 fans there and to see all the cosplays. Special shout-out to Nastylady for managing to put up with me all weekend (no easy feat.)

Sniper lay on his back in a boat in the middle of a calm ocean. He wondered if he should sit up and search for land, but the view of the open sky above him was so pleasant he didn't want to move. An unexpected swell rocked the boat, making it dip under him. Then it was gone again, the water as calm as before. The cat found Sniper and curled up on his stomach; a warm weight that just boarded on uncomfortable. But then she yawned and stretched. And stretched and stretched, growing to the size of a tiger. Her paws flexed on either side of his neck, and claws seized him.

Sniper's eyes snapped open in the dark. A shape loomed in close to him. Sniper jolted, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The weight from his dream shifted forward and the pressure at his throat tightened.

The BLU Spy's teeth and eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he grinned down at Sniper.

Sniper gasped and his heart stuttered in his chest. He squirmed desperately, simultaneously trying to press his shoulders as far into the mattress as they'd go, and buck his attacker off him. He coughed against the hands digging into his throat as he tried to pull his tangled arms loose of his sheets. Sniper managed to drag his right hand free and stuffed it under his pillow. With the Spy's hold on his throat pressing him into it, it was hard for him to search for what he needed.

_It should be here- right here_. Sniper kept expecting his fingers to close over the leather sheath of the knife he kept under his pillow. But there was nothing there.

'Looking for something of yours?' the Spy asked, his grin growing wider.

A fresh burst of panic shot through Sniper. He yanked his right arm free and scrabbled at the Spy's wrist. Sparks flashed in front his eyes every time he blinked as he fought his left arm free of the sheets as well.

Despite how it appeared in movies, strangulation wasn't that quick or efficient a process. But the Spy kept up the exact amount of pressure needed to prevent Sniper from pulling himself together enough to fight back properly, without killing him.

'You know, I thought that it would be nice for us to have a little time to ourselves. We keep getting interrupted and that's just not fair, now is it?' There was a lecherous smirk on the Spy's face

Sniper made a choking sound in reply while he tried to dig his fingers under the Spy's. He arched his spine with all his might, but that just pressed Spy's upper back against the roof of the camper van. There wasn't enough space up here for Sniper to be able to buck his attacker off his stomach.

The Spy hummed appreciatively and said, 'Oh, you really should do that again.'

A knot of revulsion twisted in Sniper's stomach. He pulled his legs up to slam his knees into the Spy's back but the movement was slow and sluggish and the Spy hardly even seemed to notice. It was getting hard to even think now. Black spots bloomed in front of his eyes, and his attempts to pull the BLU's hands away from his throat grew weaker and weaker.

After another moment or two, the Spy relaxed his grip but kept his hands bracketed around Sniper's throat. Sniper tugged weakly at his right wrist with both hands but otherwise stilled, his legs pressed up against the Spy's back. He took great steadying gulps of air. Each one hurt but they brought the shadowy world back into focus. Not that the view in front of him was a welcoming one.

'Good,' the Spy said, sounding almost as breathless as Sniper. 'Behave and I won't do that again. Now, as pleasant as this current situation is, I think I'd rather be behind you for this next bit...'

Sniper let go of the Spy's wrist and clasped his hands together, right arm pressing into the Spy's left from above it, his other arm doing the same underneath the Spy's right. He dropped one knee to the side, and before the BLU had chance to react, he copied a move the RED Spy had shown him. He wrenched his left elbow down and his right up, forcing his enemy's hands away from his throat and knocking him off balance. At the same time Sniper used the leverage of the leg he'd pulled up to twist his hip to one side and throw the Spy off his lap.

In hindsight, he should have thrown the Spy the other way. To the right of him lay a drop down to the camper van floor, to the left, just the rest of the mattress and a wall.

The Spy hit the wall with a startled yelp.

This left Sniper lying in bed next to an angry and deranged BLU Spy. While this was preferable to the Spy being on top of him, it was still far from ideal. His escape lay to the right. If If Sniper could get down quickly enough he'd be able make a dash for the base and hope the Spy wouldn't dare follow him, or wake up a teammate for backup. Or he could grab one of the kukris mounted on the opposite wall and show the Spy what a terrible mistake he'd made tonight.

Apparently the Spy approved of Sniper's ideas, as he decided to lend a helping hand. Or at least, a helping foot.

Sniper barely managed to pull himself up to face his escape, his head hitting the camper roof, before the Spy kicked him in the back. Sniper threw out a hand to support himself and only just managed to catch hold of the ledge. His stomach lurched at how close he'd come to falling off. Then the Spy slammed both feet into Sniper, his shoulders braced against the wall so he could shove at the RED with all his might.

A cry of fear lodged itself in Sniper's throat. He made a desperate grab for something, anything, as the Spy kicked him off the edge. His fingers caught on the corner of his mattress for a second. Then he was falling.

It lasted just one heart stopping moment.

With a crash and a splintering pain in his ribs, Sniper hit the corner of the table below. The table broke free from its single support, sending him and its contents crashing to the ground. Sniper's one remaining mug shattered, peppering him with shards. His ankles ended up hooked around the corner of part of the seating but the rest of him lay face down, dazed and disorientated on his camper floor.

Sniper heard movement and felt the foam of the seat dip. Before he had chance to pull himself together, the Spy straddled him from behind. The added weight put pressure on Sniper's damaged ribs, forcing a groan from him.

'Oh shit, shit, shit!' he whispered to himself hoarsely. The Spy chuckled and leant forward, pressing his palms onto Sniper's shoulders to stop him from trying to lever himself up.

'I've waited a long time for this,' the Spy said, his voice hushed.

Snipers racing heart seemed to skip several beats.

_'Shit!'_

'Well, a month and a half, anyway.'

The Spy shifted one hand and began to tug at the baggy t-shirt Sniper had taken to wearing to bed recently.

'Fuck off!' Sniper spat as the Spy wrenched the shirt up his back. He tried elbowing the Spy and reached back to claw at any inch of him he could, but it did no good. The Spy grunted at the effort of dragging the top up while the front was pinned underneath Sniper. He swapped hands and yanked at the other side until he could bunch up the back of it and pull it over Sniper's head.

Sniper continued to struggle as best as he could with the t-shirt tangled around his shoulders, swearing under his breath. He did his best to sound angry, but a note of fear and desperation crept into his voice.

'Get off me! Just fucking get off me. Right. Now.'

Sniper couldn't blame himself though. The Spy was _stripping_ him. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense, his skin crawling, as he braced for the moment when the Spy would wrench his boxer shorts down.

But it never came.

Instead, the Spy ran both leather-clad hands up the length of Sniper's back until he reached his shoulder blades. Sniper hissed in a breath and pressed his head back to protect his neck.

But the Spy didn't go for that either.

'What the hell do you think you're even doing here!' Sniper gasped. The Spy didn't answer. 'We're off the clock! This is out of bounds; you can't be here! You can't do this!'

The Spy let out an amused huff and the contact disappeared for a moment. Sniper heard movement behind him. 'I really don't see why not,' the Spy said.

'You just—can't!' At 'can't', Sniper tried to throw the Spy off again but the BLU's hands returned to keep himself steady. They felt hotter now. Clammy against Sniper's skin.

'Shhh,' the Spy said, rubbing the thumbs of his now bare hands in circles against Sniper's back. Sniper flinched; there was nothing remotely soothing about the gesture.

'Now, if I'm wrong, I'll just have to kill you and write this off as an amusing but pointless little endeavour. However, if I'm right, this is going to really hurt...'

It was all the warning Sniper got before the Spy dug thumb nails into his spine, right between the shoulder blades.

Pain.

Pain filled Sniper's world, stretching from horizon to horizon.

Nothing else the existed in the galaxy.

In the universe.

Every muscle taut.

His mouth open in a silent scream.

He couldn't breath.

Eyes wide open.

Couldn't see.

 

Then it was gone.

Sniper went limp, a marionette with its strings sliced through. Little tremors ran down his spine like the aftershock of an earthquake. His diaphragm shook with every breath, a hair's breadth away from turning into a sob.

The Spy gave a breathless little laugh. 'So, that certainly worked!' he said, sounding delighted. 'Tell me, Sniper, how did that feel? Excruciating? Hmmm?'

Sniper shuddered as the Spy started rubbing circles against his back again, getting gradually closer and closer to the same point on his spine. 'I asked you a question, Sniper.'

It took all of Sniper's willpower to pull his fractured thoughts together enough for him to be able to talk.

'Shit! Don't. Please, don't!' His voice wobbled in a manner that would have made him feel ashamed in any other situation.

'I said, how does it feel?'

'It hurts! It fucking hurt! What the hell are you—Ahhh!' Sniper jolted as the Spy's circling hands brushed past the patch of skin he'd dug his thumbs into. Even that briefest and lightest of touch made Sniper feel as though he'd just been electrocuted.

The Spy tutted. 'Language, Sniper.'

Every instinct Sniper possessed was screaming at him to fight back, to escape. It was a torture in its own right to hold himself back from doing so. The phrase, 'stuck between a rock and a hard place' didn't even start to do him justice. The Spy's hands were too close to his spine. Any attempts to escape would just hurt more. But if he stayed where he was there'd be nothing to stop the Spy from doing _that_ again and again and again.

He didn't understand why he wasn't dead. He didn't know what the Spy had done to him, but whatever it had been, he should have died. Surely. How could he have been in that much pain and still lived? It had felt like a thousand knives being stabbed into his spine all at once. But there was no wound. There was no blood. Just little tremors throughout his body that he couldn't control.

'What did you do to me?' He asked.

'Just ran a little experiment on you. It's very gratifying to find out it works. I tried it with your Medic but that did not go... quite to plan. I'm glad really, because if I'd proved myself right with him, I probably would have never tried it on you...' The Spy scraped his nails down the right side of Sniper's back, making him twitch and shudder. 'And this is so much more fun.'

An experiment? Sniper couldn't make sense of it. Nails dragged slowly back up his spine. Sniper flinched and screwed his eyes up tight, mouth twisted into a grimace. He didn't know what to do. Was there anything? Anything at all he could do to stop the Spy? Any way to save himself? He pressed his forehead against the cold linoleum floor and swallowed against a tightness in his throat that had nothing to do with his earlier strangulation.

He didn't know what to do.

The nails circled his shoulder blades, getting closer and closer and closer-

'Don't! Dear _God,_ don't!'

The movement stopped. 'No?' there was a mocking, curious tone to the Spy's voice.

'No! Please don't. Just...just...' Sniper didn't know how to finish the sentence. Somehow he suspected, ' _Just fuck off you creepy-ass bastard!'_ was not going to help the situation.

'And why shouldn't I? Give me one reason, Sniper.'

'Because. Because...' His mind drew a blank. The Spy cared for no one but himself. What answer could he possibly give that would sway a man who enjoyed hurting him so much?

'See. No reason at all,' the Spy said. His hands started moving again, a feather-light touch now that felt to Sniper like two spiders closing in on his spine. An involuntary shiver ran down his back.

'But you could give me one,' the Spy continued. 'What would you give me to stop? What would you offer? What would you _do_?'

Sniper closed his eyes tight as he forced himself to consider his options. What would he be willing to do to avoid having to go through that strange agony all over again?

_Anything._

He licked his dry lips and took a deep breath that sent pain lancing through his fractured ribcage.

'Nothing,' he said, his voice thick. 'There is nothing I'd give you. There's nothing that I'd do for you! You're a fucking bastard and a creep and a—'

His eyes snapped open.

Back arched.

Hands clenched.

Couldn't see.

Couldn't breath.

Couldn't scream.

White-hot pain.

White-hot agony.

Then, eventually, the pressure disappeared again.

How long had it been that time? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? It felt like aeons.

Sniper became slowly aware of a whimpering, whining sound that could only be coming from him. He wanted to stop it but couldn't find the energy. There was blood on his left arm from where shards of his broken coffee mug had cut him. He hadn't even noticed it happen. He couldn't bring himself to care.

Sniper slumped down, breathing ragged, little tremors and twitches running throughout his body. The Spy followed him down, an iron-hard grip on his shoulders that tightened and tightened.

He didn't fight against it. Didn't have the energy.

He'd lost. This was it. There was no stopping the Spy, no saving himself.

Sniper closed his eyes in defeat.

 

The Spy's hands shook from adrenaline. Or maybe that was just the little twitches and shudders of the Sniper beneath him.

_God, what a sight._

It worked better than he ever could have dreamed. He'd expected it to hurt, of course he had, that was the point. But to this extent? He'd never thought it was possible.

This power he had over Sniper now was just incredible. It made his breath hitch just thinking about it and there was a giddy sensation in his head that made him feel almost drunk.

The Spy ran his hands down the Sniper's back again, eyes fluttering shut at the shivers that followed in the wake of his fingertips like ripples on water.

It was incredible.

He could do anything he liked with his enemy now. Get him to do anything now. Get him to beg. Get him to cry. Get him to...

But no, he'd already said that he refused to do anything for the Spy, even with this new threat against him. Was he so undesirable to Sniper that even in the face of extreme pain he refused to consider much more... interesting options?

Maybe digging his nails into that spot a few more times would get the Sniper to reconsider. Except, looking down at the man and the way he just lay there now, he wasn't struggling anymore. Not even swearing. There was no fight left in the Sniper at all.

Sniper had already surrendered. The Spy had him exactly where he wanted him, and with almost as little clothing on as he wanted, too.

There was nothing stopping him.

Nothing at all.

He could do it right now.

The Spy's hands were definitely shaking now. He stared down at the Sniper beneath him. Back, spine, shoulders, waist. Everything exposed.

He'd thought about it. Ever since the first time he'd seen the Sniper. Nasty little daydreams to entertain himself on long, boring evenings. His fantasies had been entirely violent and dominating to begin with, then slowly, over time, they'd shifted into something more... welcomed. No matter the scenario or the Sniper's reaction though, he'd always got what he wanted.

Like he could do right now.

He could.

He could...

The Spy swallowed against the nausea in the back of his throat.

This wasn't a fantasy. This was real life. The Sniper was really beneath him, at his mercy. He really could do this. If he wanted to.

The Spy closed his eyes.

Memories surfaced. Ones he'd buried so deep they were never supposed to see the light of day again.

_Him, as a child._

_Fingers stuffed in his ears._

_Humming nursery rhymes._

_Trying to block out the sounds from the bedroom next door._

_It didn't work._

_It never worked._

_Not entirely._

Below him, the Sniper shifted.

_The threats when she resisted._

_The one's his mother didn't want him to hear._

_The one's his stepfather did._

_'If not you, then him.'_

_She always gave in._

_To his relief._

_To his shame._

Pain scored across his left arm. The Spy flinched and swore. He grabbed hold of the Sniper's wrist and squeezed, forcing him to drop his weapon. It was hard to make out exactly in the gloom, but it looked like a piece of a broken mug.

The Spy glanced down at his arm. He was bleeding, his suit, ruined. He pulled his lips back into a snarl, teeth bared.

_Howdarehehowdarehehowdarehe?_

The Molotov cocktail of toxic emotions that had been building up inside him shattered.

The Spy didn't plan it. He just did it.

He grabbed hold of the Sniper's hair, wrenched his head to the side, and bit him. The Spy clamped down onto the junction between neck and shoulder, his tongue pressed against the Sniper's skin. Everything went into the bite; all the emotions he couldn't name, all the memories he couldn't face, all of it welling up and travelling into his jaw.

An elbow slammed into his side. Once, twice, three times. He ignored it. Then something gave. Not the Spy's ribs, the Sniper's flesh. The skin split beneath the Spy's teeth and the taste of copper flooded into his mouth. He grimaced against the Sniper's neck and pulled himself away. His jaw ached but he felt better now. Calmer. He looked down at the Sniper beneath him again as he licked the blood off his teeth and felt... nothing. His walls were back up and he was bored of this whole situation now. He'd finally proved that a rumour he'd heard about years ago was actually true. Not that he knew anyone worth sharing the results with. His team's Medic would be interested, but they weren't exactly what you would call 'friends.'

Never mind. It could be his and Sniper's little secret, not that the other man was likely to understand what had happened. He liked the sound of that.

The Spy stood up and stepped away from the Sniper, reaching into his pocket for his balisong. Or maybe he should use one of the marksman's own weapons? Maybe his fancy wooden shiv, or the little pearl-handled knife stolen from under his pillow?

He looked back at the Sniper, watched him try to pull himself up on trembling arms and then collapse back down again.

No. If he killed the Sniper now he'd lose his free time to respawn, but it would be too quick. He wouldn't have time to worry about what would might happen during the next match, to ponder what had happened and wonder if the Spy might do it again. Better, crueller, to leave the Sniper alive. Plus, he was going to have enough of his pay cheque docked as it was because of tonight; no need to lose it all on the Sniper. He wasn't worth it.

The Spy nodded to himself, decision made. At the door to the camper van he turned back to have one last look at the Sniper. He was still lying on the floor in defeat among the ruins of his table and everything that had been on it. He'd managed to pull his top back down a bit though. Pity. Though it wasn't as though the Sniper's new pressure point was visible to the naked eye.

The Spy disappeared off into the night, a smile on his lips.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, nice cheerful chapter there.  
> For any music fans I've put together a second Foe Yay playlist on 8Tracks called, [Sixteen Reasons Why (We Should Never be Together)](http://8tracks.com/terminalnostalgia/sixteen-reasons-why-we-should-never-be-together) I called it the 'shippy' playlist on my Tumblr but actually, as the name suggests, it's probably more of an anti-ship playlist, or an unhealthy one at best. No surprises there, I'm guessing :P
> 
> The next chapter shouldn't take as long as this one did. Hopefully.


	33. Support

Sniper's world was grey and edged in pain.

He had no idea how long he'd lain there. He thought he might have fallen asleep at some point, except, no, that couldn't be possible. Not in the middle of the wreckage of his table. Not amongst crumpled paper, broken wood and the shards of his late coffee mug. Not with the sharp ache in his side every time he drew breath, or the tremors that continued to travel down his body no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

A little voice in the back of his head told him to get up. The rest of him ignored it.

The Spy had broken into his home, his sanctuary, in the middle of the night. The Spy had done _something_ that Sniper still couldn't comprehend and then left him there, shivering with phantom pain, on his camper floor.

Sniper didn't know why he was still alive. That wasn't how his encounters with the BLU Spy usually went. And to be brutally honest with himself, he wasn't sure why something, well, worse hadn't happened. He'd suspected for weeks now that the Spy had some kind of twisted, unhealthy interest in him. Then, tonight, the Spy had got in close to him, really close. Even straddled him. He'd made a crude joke about wanting to get right behind him. He'd pulled Sniper's top up, exposing his back. And he'd bitten him.

The only times Sniper had been bitten before had been during bedroom activities and he's always rather enjoyed the sensation. And excluding that one time when he was ten and Kevin Williams had ripped up his sketchbook, he'd also never bitten anyone else outside of the bedroom. It was something he purely associated with sex, but now every time he tried to move it pulled at the wound on his neck.

So why? Why had the Spy stopped there? He had no problem hurting Sniper and enjoyed doing so. Muzzily, Sniper decided he should just accept that for once in his life he'd been lucky and things hadn't turned out as bad as they could have done.

Except, lying there as another involuntary shudder racked his body, he didn't feel lucky at all.

_Time to try and get up again_ , that little part of him said. There was a dispenser in the base, and relative safety in case the Spy decided to come back and finish what he'd started.

This time he managed to drag himself to his feet and leant heavily against the van wall to keep himself upright. Sniper's legs shook beneath him as though he'd just finished a five mile run. He felt nauseous too. And tired. So tired.

Sniper staggered out into the early morning and over to the base. He let out a sigh of relief when he finally spotted the dispenser halfway down the west corridor. He only just managed to reach it without resorting to crawling the last few metres.

Sniper crumpled down next to it, resting his swimming head against the cold metal. The machine hummed to life at the contact, red mist-like fumes wafting out of it. The corridor filled with the scent of eucalyptus and tea tree oil. Sniper took a deep breath, dragging the fumes into his lungs. The motion sent a twinge of pain through his side but it didn't matter. Another minute or so and his broken ribs would be healed.

Then a strange _clunk-clunk-whir_ came from the dispenser and the red mist dissipated into the air.

'Whu?' Sniper said, his eyes half closed. He heaved himself forward and peered at the dial on the front of the dispenser. He tapped the glass with a fingernail. Maybe he was just reading it wrong in the poor light. The dispenser couldn't be empty, right? That just wouldn't be fair. Not after everything he'd been through tonight.

Sniper thumped the side of the machine. Nothing happened. He groaned. The world really hated him, didn't it?

_Maybe I deserve it_ , Sniper thought as he collapsed back against the wall next to the dispenser. He'd destroyed the one thing that had mattered to him most in the world. Maybe this was the universe's way of punishing him. Sniper nodded jerkily and then rested his head against the dispenser again.

This time he knew he slept because when he woke there was a silhouetted figure leaning over the dispenser.

The BLU Spy. Come to finish him off.

He started, a hoarse cry lodging itself in his damaged throat

But no. Not him. It was wasn't the BLU Spy.

A stranger.

A stranger who flinched away, a hand reaching up to cover his face. A burst of rapid-fire French followed. Sniper only recognised a couple of what he knew were swear words. His brow furrowed.

'Spy?' he tried to say. All that came out was a croaking sound.

Footsteps. Receding.

Panic gripped Sniper. He needed help. He needed Spy.

'Spy?' it was little more than a whisper.

'Spy!'

The footsteps slowed.

'Please.'

The footsteps stopped.

'I haven't got my mask on,' Spy said, his voice small.

'Yeah,' Sniper replied.

Slow, cautious footsteps. Heading back his way.

'The dispenser's run out, hasn't it?'

'Yeah.'

'I swear that if you've just got a hangover from drinking with Demoman again...'

Spy reached him. Sniper dragged his heavy head up to look at the man above him. The mask-less Spy stood with his body sideways on, his face turned away so that he could only see Sniper out of the corner of his eye and so that Sniper could see as little of his face as possible.

Thick, dark hair, starting to recede and with touches of grey at either temple. The same square jaw and strong nose he was used to, but exposed. He'd never really thought about what Spy might look like under the mask but here he was, the jigsaw pieces of his face finally put together as a whole for the first time. Sniper knew he shouldn't stare but he couldn't help it, it was such an odd and unexpected sight.

So was the fact that he was topless. Sniper couldn't see the bottom half of Spy's body because of the dispenser but he hoped that for both their sakes that he was wearing something there at least.

Sniper watched Spy's expression of irritated confusion slip away into one of horror. He wasn't sure why. He certainly felt like shit but he couldn't think of any reason why he should look that bad. Whatever the BLU had done to his back didn't seem to have left any injury behind, after all.

Spy's fingers reached up to brush against his own exposed throat.

'Sniper. What happened?'

Sniper coughed, trying to clear his sore throat enough to explain. But when he did, the words still wouldn't come.

'I— It was—I mean...I...'

'I think,' Spy said, 'we should get you to Medic. You can tell him what happened. How about it?'

'Don't want to bother anybody,' Sniper said, his raspy voice making it sound like he was the chain-smoker, not Spy.

'Sniper,' Spy said levelly, 'Medic is a _Medic._ It's his job to be bothered by medical emergencies.'

'Not an emergency,' Sniper muttered.

Spy ignored Sniper's protests as he leaned down and slung one of the marksman's arms over his shoulder. 'Come on now, up you get.' He pulled Sniper up ont o unsteady feet.

'Besides,' Spy said with forced cheerfulness, 'Medic would kill me if he found out I'd found you in this state and just left you.'

'Not in a state,' Sniper said.

Spy patted him reassuringly on the shoulder with his free hand.

Sniper flinched.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots that danced in front of his eyes as they made their way down the corridor. Sniper had never been the kind of person to ask for anyone's assistance and he still felt angry and confused over Spy's betrayal. All the same, Sniper felt a deep sense of relief that there was someone here to help him to the infirmary and that once he was there, he'd finally get the first-aid he desperately wanted.

Sniper tried not to think about how much further they had to go. Instead he found himself glancing sideways at Spy. His chest and arms were hairier than he'd expected, not that Sniper had spent much time wondering what Spy looked like under his suit either. It was just that he was such a sleek, streamlined individual that Sniper wouldn't have thought he'd have much body hair.

He saw a flash of something dark as Spy adjusted his grip on Sniper. Sniper narrowed his eyes, wondering if he'd imagined that there was something on Spy's arm. Then they passed by a window. In the weak morning light that shone through it, Sniper saw markings. Tattoos. An entire sleeve of them on Spy's arm, the one that Sniper hadn't been able to see when Spy had kept his body sideways in front of the dispenser.

A coiling snake. A spider on a web. A skull with diamonds in its eye sockets. Barbed-wire wrapped rose stems. A pin-up girl covering her chest and crotch up with a pair of fans. Others that Sniper couldn't make out as they curved around Spy's arm and out of sight.

They were all the kinds of things that a young man would think looked cool. Scout would probably love them. But Spy? They didn't match Spy's persona at all. They didn't even match the mask-less Spy-not-Spy helping him now. Sniper just didn't know what to make of them.

'You look strange,' told Spy at last.

'Thank you, Sniper.'

'I mean, not— not a bad strange. Just strange.'

'Ahuh.'

'Like someone's dad.'

'Whose dad?'

'Dunno,' Sniper replied. 'Someone's dad,'

They'd almost reached the Medical wing.

'Spy?'

'Yes?'

'Why haven't you got your mask on?'

'It's five in the morning, Sniper. I didn't expect anyone else to be up.'

'Oh. Is that why you've got no shirt on too?'

'Indeed it is, Sniper.'

'You've got pants on though.'

'One must draw the line somewhere, Sniper.'

'Okay,' said Sniper, nodding his head vaguely.

The movement tugged at the injury and his shoulder. He didn't want to think about that.

‘Spy?’

‘Yes?’

‘What’s with the tatts?’

‘We’re here now, Sniper.’ Spy pushed the door to the infirmary open.

It was dark and empty inside. Sniper was surprised to find no sign of Medic. He’d somehow ended up with the impression that the Danish man lived in there. Just like he’d thought teachers lived at school when he was a kid.

‘You sit down here a minute, Spy said, leading him over to one of the hospital beds that lined the far wall. ‘If you can,’ he added.

‘Course I can sit down,’ Sniper muttered. ‘Everyone can sit down.

‘Good. I'm just going to fetch Medic.’ Spy’s hands drifted back to his bare face.

‘Thank you,' Sniper said. He meant it. He might still be angry at Spy, but he appreciated how uncomfortable his teammate must feel right now.

 

Spy slipped back out of the infirmary and took a moment to bury his face in his hands and groan. He took his mask off at night. Of course he did, who sleeps in a balaclava? But on the odd occasion he had to venture out of his room in the early hours of the morning, he usually pulled it back on, just in case. Like most spies, he had a paranoid streak after all.

He'd become lazier the last couple of years though. Or at least, softer. It was so tiring and unrewarding to have to constantly distance yourself from the people you lived with. Over time the facade of 'the Spy' that he'd dedicated so much of his life to maintaining had worn away as the real Antoine began to show through.

And now he'd decided to leave his mask off for once while he made a quick trip to the dispenser at five in the morning and the Sniper had seen him without it. No, worse, without a mask _or_ top on.

Well, one team mate had seen him like this, might as well make it another while he was at it.

Medic's room was just off the next corridor from the infirmary. Close enough that he could easily check in on patients during the night without being close enough to hear their snoring, he'd always said.

Spy took a deep breath and knocked lightly on Medic's door. Nothing. He knocked again a little harder. Still nothing. Spy let out an irritable sigh and rapped his knuckles hard against the wood.

There was a muffled yelp, then swearing. Spy heard Medic shouting in Danish. He just had time to translate that it had something to do with Scout and paper cuts before the door burst open. A dishevelled Medic with glasses askew and rumpled stripy pyjamas glared back at him. His expression quickly changed to that of puzzlement.

'Who...' he began. Then his brows furrowed. 'Spy?'

'Uh, yes,' Spy said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

'What's wrong, Spy?' Medic asked, worry flickering across his face as his eyes moved over Spy, looking for damage.

'It's Sniper,' Spy said. 'He's been attacked.'

Medic's eyes flicked straight back to Spy's. 'The BLU Spy?'

'He hasn't confirmed anything but yes, I'd say so.'

'Shit. Give me a second.' He ducked back into his room and unhooked a burgundy dressing gown from the back of his door. Spy was just thinking about how much he wished _he_ had a dressing gown when the Medic tossed it his way. 'Here,' Medic said, already striding off ahead of him. 'Is Sniper in the medical bay?'

'Yes,'

'Is he conscious?'

'Yes.'

'Is he injured?'

'Yes.'

'Life threateningly so?'

'No, I don't think so. He seemed disorientated and distracted but not in any immediate danger.'

Medic stopped with his hand resting on the door to the infirmary.

'Any sign of sexual assault?' he asked, keeping his voice low.

'None. At least, not as far as I can tell. He's able to sit down fine and I've seen no sign of any, uh, blood or anything, you know, in that sort of area. He has what looks like a bite here though,' Spy said, tapping the top of his right shoulder.

'And no new cuts on his face?'

'No,' Spy confirmed. 'None. Some cuts on his arms and some bruising around his throat but nothing on his face.'

'Well, there's that at least.' With that, Medic pushed open the door.

'Hey, Doc,' Sniper said in a croaky voice, with a weak smile. 'Nice dressing gown you got there, Spy.'

In the bright light of the infirmary the bruising looked much worse but the cuts weren't as deep as Spy had originally thought. Sniper looked perkier too, and more focused than before.

'So,' Medic began, walking briskly past Sniper and flicking several switches on on his wall-mounted medigun. 'Had a bit of a rough night, I hear?'

Sniper nodded. 'Uh, yeah, kind of. Sorry.'

'Sorry? What for?'

'Waking you up.'

'It's not you who's to blame for that, Sniper. It was the BLU Spy, yes?'

'Yeah.'

The medigun began to hum quietly. Medic pressed a button on the side and a see-through vial in the centre of it filled up with red liquid.

Spy fidgeted where he stood, an unusual thing for him. He didn't know what to do. That was unusual for him too. He self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. That was as well. Spy wasn't used to be able to touch his own hair very often.

He wanted to leave. He desperately wanted to leave and pretend none of this had ever happened, but he didn't want to abandon Sniper.

'Where does it hurt?' Medic asked Sniper.

'Umm, throat. Shoulder. Arms. Mostly my left. Ribs, left side.'

'Anywhere else? Anywhere at all? I need you to tell me, Sniper.'

'Uh, well, I whacked one of my knees on the floor a bit but that's it.'

'Are you certain?'

'Yeah,'

'Then top off, please, I need to have a look.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

'I can take this off as a show of solidarity,' Spy joked. His fingers grazed across the front of the dressing gown as he spoke, fingers subconsciously reaching for the reassurance of cigarettes that weren't there. Sniper gave him a strained smile.

'Come on, up,' Medic said, tugging the T-shirt up. Spy saw a flash of fear that was hidden by fabric a moment later. By the time Medic had pulled it over his head, the expression was gone. Sniper pulled his shoulders back and sat up straighter, glaring off at a cabinet set against the opposite wall.

He had some interesting scarring, Spy noticed. There was a large, nasty set of what looked like teeth marks sunk into his abdomen. Spy wondered what could have caused them. A crocodile, he suspected from the shape, though how Sniper had managed to survive a crocodile attack like that was a whole other mystery.

Something about Sniper's throat caught his eyes. A thin white scar that was usually hidden by his high collar now stood out starkly against his bruised skin. Spy's eyes flickered up to Sniper's face, only to find his staring back. They both looked away but Spy found his gaze returning to Sniper's eyes once Medic distracted him by prodding his injured ribs. They really were strange, those odd-coloured eyes of Sniper's. The marksman spent so much of his time wearing his awful orange-tinted sunglasses that Spy had almost forgotten about them.

'Broken,' Medic muttered to himself. 'Fractured. Fractured.'

'Ouch! Don't you need to do an X-ray for things like this?' Sniper asked.

'No need, I've got this. Now let's have a look at this...' he poked at the wound on Sniper's shoulder. 'Spy, I've got some cotton wool and antiseptic in that cupboard over there, can you get it for me?'

'Yes!' Spy said, happy to be given a job to do.

'Can't you just use the medigun?' Sniper asked.

'You've learnt first-hand that it's not always enough when it comes to flesh wounds,' Medic reminded him. 'And besides, the human mouth harbours all kinds of bacteria. Who knows what nasty diseases the Spy might have given you?'

Spy glanced up from searching through the cupboard in time to catch sight of Sniper's face. He looked rather queasy.

'I was joking, I was joking! Just trying to lighten the mood... though actually, the amount of bacteria the average human mouth contains is quite impressive!'

'Good... to know,' Sniper said, still looking rather ill.

By the time Spy found what Medic wanted, Medic was standing in front of Sniper, with hands on either side of his throat, gently prodding the bruising. 'Hmm, bit swollen,' he said, more to himself than anyone else. Sniper stared ahead, completely rigid and didn't even look at Spy when he placed the antiseptic and bag of cotton wool down next to him.

'Right,' Medic said. 'The medigun should be charged up by now. Pull it over here, Spy. That's it. Flick that switch on—no, that switch—no, that one. I said, that one! Yes, thank you.'

The gentle hum of the medigun grew louder as red wisps began to trickle out of it. They floated lazily in the air for a moment, before drifting towards Sniper. Spy heard Sniper sigh in relief as the fumes surrounded him. A couple of tendrils snaked their way over to Spy and immediately a headache he hadn't even noticed he'd had, faded away, along with the pain in his hand.

It had been a splinter that had woken him up at five in the morning. A nasty one stuck deep in his palm that he hadn't been able to get out after the battle, but just a splinter all the same.

By the time Medic switched it off, even he was looking more bright-eyed and alert than before. Over-healing was a wonderful thing.

'Better?' Medic asked Sniper as he dabbed blood away from the cuts on his arms.

'Much,' Sniper replied, watching as thin lines were exposed. They'd healed up much better than the scar on his face originally had, probably because they'd been seen to sooner.

'Sniper, can you tell me what happened tonight?'

'Does it matter? I'm all right now.'

'Yes, I think it does.'

Sniper hunched his shoulders and stared down at the cracked tiles on the floor.

Spy bit his lip, thinking. 'Perhaps it is time that I left you two gentleman to it and returned to my room.' Like all spies, he was nosey and curious, and aching to find out exactly what that BLU bastard had done. But he knew that having an audience of two would make the following conversation so much more difficult for the Sniper. As his doctor, Medic needed to know about events that affected his patients' mental and physical well-being. Spy did not.

'Ahhh... ah yes, right,' Medic replied, catching on. 'Do you need anything before you go though?'

'No, I'm fine, doctor. I had a minor problem with my hand that woke me up, but the medigun's fixed that for me. But, uh, do you want your dressing gown back before I go?'

'No, it's quite all right, you can hang on to it for tonight.'

'Thank you.' Spy paused at the door. 'Sniper?'

'Yeah?'

'While it is of course, your choice, I would recommend that you move into the base. I don't like the idea of anyone on our team being stuck outside with a BLU who's intent on ignoring the rules about out-of-hours combat.'

Sniper's frown deepened. 'I'm not gonna let that bastard scare me out of my own home.'

'Sniper, I really—'

'I'll move my van closer the base though. Seems like a good idea.'

It was a compromise, and the best Spy was going to get. All the same, as he strode back to his room, it was Sniper that he was worrying about, not the fact that he's broken his contract by allowing two members of his team to see his face.

 

'So...' Medic began. Sniper's frown had turned into a scowl. If looks could kill, the floor tiles would have shattered. Medic ignored his expression and continued to dab at the cuts on his arm. 'How did these happen?'

Sniper snorted derisively. 'It was just sharp bits from a smashed mug, that's all.'

'Was it smashed before your encounter with the BLU Spy?'

'Nah, it was his fault.'

'Did he throw it against a wall?'

'What? Nah.' Sniper wasn't sure why Medic cared about something so minor. 'It broke when I fell on it. Well not it, the table. And actually I didn't fall, I was pushed.'

'The BLU Spy pushed you? Where from?'

'My bed, it's in this alcove above the cab in my van.'

'You were in bed with the BLU Spy?' Medic's tone was innocently puzzled.

'Of course not!' Sniper snapped, wrenching his arm away from Medic. 'It wasn't like that!'

'Then how was it, Sniper?' Medic peered back at him over the top of his glasses, face straight, patiently waiting for an answer.

'It was— look, it—' Sniper realised he'd have to start right from the beginning. 'I was asleep, okay? Then I woke up with that masked freak leering down at me, hands around my throat.' His breath hitched as he remembered the smug purr of the Spy's voice as he'd told Sniper that he wouldn't tighten his grip again, as long as Sniper 'behaved.' He decided not to mention that bit.

'I threw him off, then he kicked me off the edge. I hit the table, broke it, and cracked my ribs. Then the Spy got me again,' Sniper continued, purposefully leaving out that _got me_ meant, _straddled me from behind._ 'Then he did something... he did something to me...' Sniper was staring at the floor without really seeing it, and missed the way Medic stiffened. 'He just dug his nails into my spine, that's all. But it... it _hurt._ And I don't mean an 'ouch' kind of hurt, I mean it was agony. I've been shot before, but this was so much worse. So much. And I don't understand why! There's no mark, no wound, no blood! Nothing!'

'Your spine?' Medic muttered, circling around behind Sniper.

'Yeah,' he replied, with a nervous glance over his shoulder.

'I can't see any signs of...unless...' Medic's fingers ghosted over the spot.

Sniper flinched away with a hiss.

'Sniper, I'm not going to hurt you.'

'But you will! You will!'

'No I won't, trust me.'

With teeth gritted, Sniper slowly leant back again. Medic's hands returned. Though warm, they sent shivers down his spine when they touched the same spot again. The shivers turned to shudders that ran down into his legs as Medic pressed his fingers in harder.

' _Shit!_ ' Sniper gasped. The contact disappeared immediately.

'I'm sorry Sniper, I thought it wouldn't hurt.'

'It didn't,' Sniper admitted. 'It's just that...' he didn't know how to continue.

'I understand.'

'Do you?' Sniper certainly didn't.

'Yes.' Medic sighed. 'When you've been in this war long enough, you end up talking to a lot of people. You hear theories, share your own, laugh at some crazy ideas people have... Most of the time the theories remain just that, theories. Sometimes though, people find themselves in a position where they are able to test a theory and prove whether it is true or false. You understand?'

Sniper didn't. He nodded anyway.

'Originally, respawn didn't remove the last few moments of each death. It had too much of a traumatic effect on people though, having to experience exactly what it was like to die over and over again. They ended up inserting a filter that would remove the memories of the last few seconds of each life. Except they aren't really removed, merely suppressed. Everything is still inside your mind.

'There was a rumour going around for years that as well as there being a mental suppressor, there was some kind of physical suppressor, and that it might be possible to find a way to remove the block. The theory being that if you could, you might have a way of forcing someone to experience the suppressed memories. If you could find a way of doing that, you'd have access to a method of torture that forces excruciating amounts of pain on to someone without risking them dying and respawning out of your grasp.

'Because fighting the enemy outside of the battlefield is forbidden, and on the battlefield, killing them is usually the most effective method of removing someone from the fight, it's thankfully not something I've ever known someone try out for real. Or at least, I thought I hadn't. Now the BLU Spy's behaviour a while back makes sense. He went through a period of targeting me before everyone else on the team. It was a good tactic, to try and remove the healer from the battlefield. Except, the deaths were odd. He'd always aim for the exact same point on my spine. I didn't notice at first because I was too busy trying to do my job, and once I did notice, I thought it was just because the medipack covers so much of my back.'

_Of course_ , the Sniper thought, eyes widening as he listened to Medic's story. The Spy had been killing him in the exact same way again and again, hadn't he? Quick, clean backstabs, just like he'd promised. But they'd always been between the exact same two vertebrae between his shoulder blades...

'But then one day he managed to get the pack off me,' Medic continued. 'I was already injured, one leg blown off by the enemy Soldier. Instead of stabbing me, the Spy just dug his fingernails into my back. When it did nothing, he got angry. I had no idea why at the time. I thought he stopped because my eventual retaliation was... harsh. But maybe it was because his plan didn't work.'

'Why didn't it though?' Sniper asked, 'I mean, that's exactly what he's been doing to me and it works. Dear _God_ , does it work. So how come it happened to me and not you?'

'I don't know, Sniper, I really don't know.'

They lapsed into silence as Medic finished patching up the wounds that the medigun hadn't fully healed.

'Why didn't it hurt when you did it?'

'Respawn logs the cause of death every time you go through the system and keeps track of who killed you. I'm not the one who imprinted those suppressed memories and sensations on you; I'm not even any enemy team mate, so I can't trigger them to return.'

'Oh, right. And, uh, how did you know where it was that he'd—'

'I believe “pressure-pointed” is the term.'

'Okay, so how did you know where he'd pressure-pointed me?'

'There's a faint patch of scars, very faint, all overlapping.'

Sniper carefully reached back and ran his fingers over the pressure point. Nothing. It just felt like normal skin to him.

' _Very_ faint,' Medic emphasised. 'They will all have been fatal wounds, and respawn rarely lets them leave scars.

'Now, I think it's time we both got some sleep. Sniper, I want you to spend the night here.'

Sniper wanted to argue, but he felt too tired. As much as the van was his home and sanctuary, it didn't feel very secure right now. Besides, he knew from experience that he could fall asleep pretty much anywhere.

'Yeah, okay,' he agreed.

Medic patted him lightly on the shoulder. For once, Sniper didn't flinch.

'And trust me, Sniper, I'm going to be talking to the Administrator about this situation tomorrow morning, if Spy doesn't beat me to it.'

'I don't want to be a bother.'

'Oh, trust me, Sniper, ' Medic said, a gleam in his eyes, 'This is no bother. No bother at all.'

That sounded promising, but as Sniper lay back on the bed and pulled up the cover Medic had given him before he left, he didn't feel hopeful.

There was just something so _untouchable_ about the BLU Spy. And besides, weren't spies supposed to be the Administrator's favourites?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again goes to the boyfriend for beta reading this for me :)


	34. Points of Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than expected but boy have I been busy!  
> To make up for it (maybe a bit?) I've finally uploaded Nath's own playlist. [You can find it here.](http://8tracks.com/terminalnostalgia/where-s-my-silver-lining)  
> Check out [this wonderful cover art](http://foeyayfanart.tumblr.com/post/147058734939/weep-for-yourself-my-man-youll-never-be-what-is) for it done by [Pinapin](http://pinapin.tumblr.com/)

* * *

It was ten by the time Sniper woke up. That gave him two hours to get ready for that day's fighting. Two hours. Plenty of time. Half an hour would do. No need to move.

Sniper's thoughts were slow and sluggish, the nights events and the lack of sleep leaving both his body and mind feeling heavy. So heavy. He didn't want to move. Didn't need to. He still had two hours. Two hours to get up, move his van, get washed, gets changed, grab something to eat. Getting to his van was going to be awkward. Underneath the blanket he was still just in his boxer shorts. He'd have to try and keep out of sight of his teammates, not feeling up to working out a convincing lie about why he was in his underwear.

He didn't feel up to much at all really.

Five more minutes. Five more minutes to just lay there and think. Sleep didn't seem like a possibility anymore, so his thoughts were all he had.

They weren't happy ones. He was just so tired. Just so fed-up. Where would this end? What would it take? He felt like they were both heading for destruction, him and the BLU Spy. How else could this end but in one of their deaths? Or both? But how could anything ever end in death here, when dead men got back up to fight over and over again every day?

But he couldn't leave. He was a dead man walking himself. No identity, no friends, no family, no money, no contacts. If he was on any other contract he could ask to move teams, but on contract zero there was no such options.

Maybe one day the Spy would wake up and realise that he needed to be the one to end this. The one to leave and take himself away from Nath. Because surely this obsession couldn't be good for him either? But what were the chances of the BLU Spy doing the right thing for once in his life? None at all, Sniper was sure. None at all.

So what? What could end this? What would it take for the BLU Spy to finally stop? What did he want? What did he _really_ want?

Sometimes, when he was alone with his thoughts and the next ten years seemed like a life sentence, Sniper thought of giving up. Surrendering. Falling to his knees in front of the enemy spy and telling him to just do it. Whatever his end goal was, whatever it would take to end this all once and for all. Just do it.

But then he'd find himself listening to Scout talking at a him a mile a minute, his eyes bright and his arms all over the place as he told Sniper funny stories about his brothers. Or knocking back a cool beer with Demoman as they gazed up at the stars and talking about nothing important at all. Or laughing as Heavy teased Medic for mangling his English again. Then he'd realise he could never do it. He didn't have much left in life, but Sniper could never give up on it. Never truly surrender. Nothing the BLU Spy had ever done was enough to break Sniper and he intended to keep it that way.

It was just a pity that in this place of violence, the Spy was the one person who seemed to seek out contact with him. Nath had never really got what the fuss was about physical contact until his first relationship. He'd understood the appeal of sex and had been interested in giving the whole kissing business a go, but he'd never realised how great other stuff could be. The light scratch of nails down your back. The heel of a palm kneading into tight shoulder muscles. A thumb circling idly around the ball of your foot. That relationship had brought so many perfect, innocent little instances of contact.

But it had never been something that would last. They'd both known that. Hannah was an American exchange student studying in Australia for a year. Maybe that's what made their relationship so good; they both knew it was going to be short lived so they had to make the most if it.

They tried making it work long-distance, but their letters became fewer and further between and Sniper found himself craving more than that. Because once he'd discovered how great that contact could be, even for the guy who'd always called himself a loner, he wanted more. Needed more.

Except he was an awkward human being. Always had been, always would be. He had friends now for the first time in his life. University had brought him into contact with the kind of like-minded people he could have never hoped to meet back home. But Hannah had seen something in him that apparently no one else could. Nath ended up ruining a couple of relationships with female friends by mistaking their friendliness for interest.

He'd been an idiot back then. An obsessive, touch-starved idiot who allowed himself to be dragged off to parties he hated just in the hope it'd lead him to what he craved. Instead he found loud music, awkward conversation, and drugs.

Then he met Justin Rowley. Justin 'I'm only gay when I'm drunk' Rowley. And in trying to kindle the same kind of relationship he'd had with Hannah, he ended up fucking his life up beyond repair.

Justin hadn't wanted a relationship. He hadn't wanted anything to with Nath when he was sober. It was only when they were both buzzed on alcohol, and sometimes something stronger, that he'd return Nath's affections. But there was so much he wouldn't do. No kissing, no hand-holding, no sleeping in the same bed, no full-on sex. It was a frustrating time for Nath. He tried pushing Justin into things he wasn't interested in more than once. At the time the rejections made Nath angry. With hindsight, he was glad of it. That was not someone he wanted to be.

During their two months of ignoring each other during the day and drunken fumblings in friends' bedrooms during the night, Nath's work suffered. He almost lost his scholarship over it. Then someone found out about them. Or maybe people had always known; they'd probably never been sober enough to hide what they were doing all that well. Either way, the rumours got out. And then Nath did lose his place at the university. He was lucky not to end up in jail.

That was a low point. A week to vacate his dorm. Nowhere to go. He couldn't return home, his parents would be too ashamed. He couldn't let them know.

But he had a contact. A friend. Well, a 'friend'. Someone who knew his talents. Someone who'd made him an offer he'd almost taken when he was young and desperate and angry at the world. Just as he was now. So he took it. Packed his things up, threw away his art supplies and picked up a rifle.

Nath thought it would make him feel powerful. That it'd finally give him a chance to prove how dangerous he really could be. And for a while it did. He could ignore all the guilt, the anxiety, the sense of worthlessness when his whole world was reduced to the sight down the barrel of a gun and the twitch of his trigger finger.

And shooting heads off paid better than art ever would. But in the end it brought him no happiness, no human contact.

Especially not once he caught the attention of someone higher up the ranks. They wanted him for more important things they said. More danger, bigger pay cheques. Just the thing to keep him from thinking about what a disaster his life had become before he'd even hit twenty. Just the thing to earn him power and respect, he thought. He thought wrong.

The problem was that in this insane country, being able to cleanly kill a target from a mile away was not a valued skill. And it certainly wasn't respected, not amongst these men and women. A proper Australian assassin challenges their opponent to a one-on-one fistfight. No backstabs. No poisons. No clean shots. Just your fists and your wits and your strength.

It was stupid. Moronic, even. Nath lost count to how many assassins died to a target calling for backup or contacting the police, or simply having a gun to hand. Common sense, Nath said. Cheating, they called it.

So they got Nath in. Not to kill anyone. Not to be counted as an equal. No, they wanted him as backup. Snipe anyone who tries to interfere with the assassination. But never the target themselves, even if they were armed. Leave that to the real deals, they told him.

Then along came Carl. Tall, blond, handsome, well-muscled Carl. The perfect picture of Australian masculinity. Things seemed normal for the first month or so. All apart from the compliments. Carl was the only person around who'd ever say, 'nice shot,' or 'well done,' or 'good working with you.' Nath started pushing to be paired with him more often. With Carl he almost felt like a partner, not extra baggage. Nath liked working with Carl, and it turned out that Carl liked working with him too. He'd never seen all that good at spotting innuendoes, flirting or come-ons. It took him a long while to work out just how much Carl seemed to like him.

Nath was up for it. He preferred women best, or slim men, but he was so lonely, so in awe of the older man, that he was happy to return the interest.

It was new territory though. Stuff Nath had never thought he'd actually do. He was nervous, but he was keen too. Right up to the point when he wasn't.

Later, as he perched gingerly on the edge of the medical bed, the doctor asked him if it had been assault. Eyes cast down, face red and eyes shiny, he'd said nothing. He didn't know the answer. No one had ever thought to sit Nath down and tell him that giving enthusiastic consent beforehand means nothing, nothing at all, if they ignore you when you beg them to stop.

Even Nath could read the disgust on the doctor's face. He'd taken the lack of a yes to mean a no. The doctor worked for the same people as Nath. He was a criminal living off the radar, not someone who would report him to the police. But he would report him to their superiors.

Nath took any jobs offer abroad he could find after that. Still working for the same organisation, but in different locations. He didn't care where. As long as it was away from Australia. He left with barely a backwards glance. With barely a regret. His parents never forgave him. In a way, Nath never forgave himself either.

He found himself in America. He also found himself fed-up of shooting people for a living. Gradually, over several years, he eased himself away from the organisation. Turning down or performing poorly on enough of his contracts that one day they finally stopped.

He was free.

Then he met a strange lady. She made him nervous. She took him in and made him breakfast. And somehow over a single morning, everything clicked into place. She seemed fascinated with him and he was fascinated with her. Michelle, the beautiful woman from New Orleans. Her Jamaican mother raised Michelle all on her own, her late, French father leaving her nothing but her name. She was five years older than Nath, and so much cleverer, so much better looking. A real social butterfly, him, the drab moth. Nath never worked out what he'd done to deserve her.

He loved her. Adored her. Would have brought her the moon, the sun and all the stars if only she'd asked him.

And then he killed her.

He didn't deserve any happiness after that, not after what he'd done. And he got very little of it.

There hadn't been anyone since Michelle. And there wouldn't be for the next ten years either, it appeared. Not unless he went and sought out the BLU Spy and agreed to accept whatever that man wanted of him.

Sniper couldn't do that. Being alone forever would be better than spending another moment in the BLU Spy's company.

 

'Sniper? Sniper, are you awake?'

'Yeah,' he said, his voice croaky from lack of use. 'I'm awake.' He pulled himself up to face a now masked, and smiling, Spy.

'I spoke to the Administrator this morning.'

'Beat Medic to it did you?'

'He was going to? No, it was better that I did it. She's always suspicious of Medics, thinks they're just contacting her to get more funds for odd experiments. But she tends to listen to us spies. Well, usually. So I reported last night's events to her. Turns out she already knew some of it.'

'What? How?'

'She has cameras set-up that captured you coming into the base and up to the dispenser.'

'Oh.' He hoped there weren't cameras elsewhere. Like in here. Or in the showers.

'After I told her the rest of what happened—well, what I know of it, she decided to dock the BLU a whole month's wages for for attacking you out of hours and out-of-bounds. A whole month!'

'That's...great,' He aimed for enthusiasm and failed miserably.

Spy's face fell. 'I know it's not, well, ideal, but it's better than I expected! I did suggest that maybe it would be best for the BLU if he was working at another base but she' said she has no current transfers available.

A month's wages. Sniper guessed he should be pleased. It wasn't as though he could report the issue to anybody higher up if the Administrator ignored the problem. But all the same, it did little to cheer him up. 'Did you get in any trouble though? For us seeing your face?' If the cameras had seen him at the DSS dispenser, they would have caught Spy without his mask too.

'I...well. It was only a minor fine. Really. Nothing to worry about. I'd happily pay triple to see the BLU Spy put in his place.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. This is all the BLU's fault. Never you forget it. This is all his fault, not yours.'

Spy looked so earnest. So sincere. It made Sniper's insides twist up.

 _Why?_ He wanted to ask. _Why do you seem to care so much one moment and then betray me the next. Why?_ But he couldn't say it. He was too tired. Too heavy. He'd have to ask at some point just so he could get closure on the issue, but for now he wanted to cling on to the idea that he actually had an ally in all of this.

God knows he needed one.

'You are still going to move your van aren't you?' Spy asked.

'Yeah. I'll stick it against the outside wall opposite where it is now.'

'Are you sure you don't want to move into the base?'

'Yeah. It's just not the place for me.' Too busy, too loud, too much of everything.

 

Unsurprisingly, Sniper wasn't at his best for that day's match. His eyes felt itchy and tired, making it hard for him to concentrate well enough to hit tricky targets. He missed far more than he should have done, including a really easy one on the enemy Heavy that Scout berated him for afterwards. Apparently he would have got the Intelligence back to base if it hadn't been for that. Sniper understood Scout's anger but wished the kid would just shut up and leave him alone.

He also wished Spy and Medic would stop hovering. The two men just 'happened' to be passing by far too often. At least they brought good news a few times.

'I caught that BLU Spy trying to backstab Heavy and shoved my bonesaw through his gut!' Medic crowed, waving the saw about in his hand.

'Shot him at point-blank range,' Spy told Sniper, leaning against the wall and smirking around his cigarette. 'He didn't even see it coming.'

Sniper enjoyed hearing about any misfortune of the BLU Spy's, and it was nice having people backing him up for once (even if he still wasn't sure about his team's Spy) but all the same, he didn't like feeling as though they were babysitting him. He was a trained mercenary for Christ's sake! He shouldn't need to other people constantly looking out for him. He should be able to handle this situation by himself.

Sniper wished he could.

Spy's fourth visit was the one that went unusually. Because it wasn't Spy. Not _his_ Spy anyway. Sniper knew it straight away. The first clue was the timing. Spy had only passed by about fifteen minutes ago and had said he had plans to go off after the enemy Intelligence as he left.

'Hia, Spy. Had any trouble?'

'Oh, nothing I can't handle.'

That was the second clue. If he'd said, 'Nothing we wouldn't expect from our BLU friends,' Sniper would have relaxed. But this spy hadn't given the correct response. Sniper forced a hollow chuckle and slouched where he sat, allowing his fingers to move subtly towards the nearby kukri.

The third clue -not that he needed it- was the way the Spy moved. The RED Spy had stayed near the door whenever he visited, giving Sniper space. He understood what it was like for a Sniper to have someone come up behind him on the battlefield.

This Spy sauntered right into Sniper's nest. Sniper watched the BLU out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to look out of the next window along, hands in his pockets. Sniper wanted to say something witty or scathing about the BLU team. Something that would force the Spy to agree with him, and if possible, insult himself, in order to keep up his disguise. But Sniper had never been very good at thinking up things on the fly like that. Instead, he casually asked, 'Seen much of the Intelligence today?' The Spy nonchalantly lit a cigarette and shrugged. It was unsettling to see such a familiar gesture and to know that it was part of an act put on by an enemy wearing an ally's skin.

Sniper watched the Spy's hand drift back towards his pockets. He didn't allow it to get there. Without any warning, he swept up his kukri and leapt to his feet, his rifle clattering to the ground. The Spy flinched. Before he had chance to do anything else, the kukri swept along his side. BLU Static and red blood arced from the wound.

He stumbled back, the disguise failing. One moment the RED Spy was glaring at him, face twisted in the pain. The next, it was the BLU.

Sniper advanced on the Spy, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl. He was shaking. He couldn't tell if it was from fear, rage or adrenaline. Whichever it was, Sniper hoped the BLU wouldn't notice.

There was so much Sniper wanted to say. So many accusations and insults. He couldn't get his thought in order enough to say any of them, and he didn't think he could trust his voice right now anyway. So he gave the Spy the silent treatment.

It was satisfying, so satisfying to force the Spy to back away. So satisfying to see fear flick across his face. Sniper didn't really want to get that close to him, knowing how often the Spy had a trick up his sleeve. Often literally. However, he couldn't let the Spy back out of range, not when he had his Ambassador in his holster.

Sniper saw the movement. Saw the Spy go for his gun. He lunged forward. His kukri wasn't a weapon made for stabbing, but that didn't stop him from keeping the tip razor-sharp. It sliced through the meat of the Spy's forearm and pierced him just below the ribs.

Elation swept through Sniper at the Spy's startled cry of pain. Sniper's heart was racing, his chest heaving. This was it. This was triumph. This was revenge.

He wrenched his kukri free and the Spy staggered backwards with a hoarse gasp, his hand clutching his bad arm, both pressed against the wound on his abdomen.

'I'll get you for this,' the Spy spat, his pale eyes wild. 'I will make you suffer for this.'

'I know,' Sniper said as he swung his kukri into the side of the Spy's neck. The Spy collapsed down to his knees, blood gushing from the wound. Sniper kicked him in the chest, sending the Spy to the floor. Another slice across the neck and the BLU was dead.

Sniper could have taunted the Spy. Could have drawn that death out slowly, made him suffer. But that wasn't his way. He'd already let this kill become too sloppy for his standards.

He spat on the floor next the Spy's corpse. 'It was worth it.' He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or the dead BLU. Sniper was shaking still. Just slightly.

But he'd won. He'd actually won another of their fights. About time.

Sniper collected up his belongings and left in search of another vantage point without a backwards glance.

 

The Spy respawned, seething. _How dare he? How dare he?_ That had been the most painful death he'd ever suffered at the Sniper's hands. He must have done that on purpose. What a stupid mistake. Surely the Sniper must know he'd only made things worse for himself.

The Spy's hand strayed to his pocket, fingers brushing against the shape beneath the fabric.

Oh yes. He'd nearly forgotten about that. The Sniper was going to just _love_ it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to check out that playlist if you're a music fan! :)  
> Also, as a little extra, check out chapter 4 of 'Term's Tumblr Prompts and Requests Collection' for a short story about the BLU Spy that will give you some information you might not see anywhere in Foe Yay, or at least, not for a very very long time.
> 
> One last note @Homestuck anon- Yes, I do read the reviews! Every single one of them. The lovely long reviews that make me smile, the constructive criticism that gets me thinking and the random one-line stuff that makes me go, 'Well okay then.'  
> Since fic writer's are putting up stories for free, reviews and comments are kind of like a reader's way of giving them back something for their time and effort. The vast majority of fic writers read their reviews and love getting them :)


	35. Proving a Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate going more than a month between chapters and this time around a month passed before I even started the next chapter! The good news is that (hopefully) updates from now on will be a little more frequent. It's funny. I wanted to have this fic finished before I started my MA. Now here I am, less than a week before my final deadline, and still working on it! What have I done.  
> The usual thanks goes to the boyfriend for proof reading for me (he's been doing that a lot recently) and for helping me with the chapter title :)

Sniper lowered his rifle and placed it down on the crate next to the one he was sitting on. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed at his tired eyes. Killing the Spy earlier had given him an adrenaline boost but it hadn't lasted long. He'd also managed to get a headshot on the BLU earlier, which had been satisfying, but he knew he was going to suffer for it.

Sniper went to glance over his shoulder as something silver flickered past his vision. He blinked, but before he even had time to wonder what it was, it fastened around his throat.

He gasped. Or at least, he tried to; he couldn't draw breath. An arm clad in dark blue entered his vision briefly, before the constriction tightened.

Sniper's hands flew to his neck, scrabbling around thin metal. He couldn't get his fingers under it. Couldn't pull it away. Couldn't breathe.

He gagged as it tightened further. A body, solid and warm, pressed against his back. It made his skin crawl. Sniper tried to pull himself forward. Tried to stand up off the crate. Tried to escape.

Sniper should have been reaching for his kukri but there was no room in his head for anything but panic. His chest moved in jerky little spasms, trying to draw in the oxygen that couldn't reach it. His legs twitched, numb and useless. Black static swam in front of his eyes.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pressure was gone. Sniper slumped forward, away from the body pressed up behind him. His hat toppled off his head and his aviators fell askew but he barely noticed. Sniper gulped in air, each breath scouring his throat. It felt so good to be able to breathe again. But it hurt so much too.

Sniper found himself crumpling to the ground in the space between the crate and the wall beneath the window he'd been sniping out of. He dragged himself out of it on hands and knees, wheezing. He had to get away. Had to. He started to cough. It tore at his throat so much it made his eyes water, but once Sniper started, he couldn't stop. Each barking cough shook his body, leaving his weak limbs shaking and his head spinning. Sniper tried to keep moving. He had to get away. By the time he finally recovered though, he'd crawled hardly more than a metre.

Sniper glanced over his shoulder to find the BLU Spy just a couple of paces away, smirking down at him. Sniper had pulled himself away from his rifle and away from the kukri propped up next to it. He turned away, trying to push himself up onto shaking legs.

Footsteps. Behind him. Sniper just had time to look around again before a foot slammed into his back, forcing him flat on the ground.

The Spy's weight shifted as he leant down. The silver wire entered Sniper's vision again. Fear clenched at his chest. 'No!' he gasped, throat so raw it barely sounded like a word at all.

'Yes,' the Spy hissed as he looped the garrote back around Sniper's throat. Sniper tried to reach up and hook his fingers under the wire before it went taut around his throat. He was too late.

Unlike before, the Spy didn't tighten the wire straight away. He kept on just enough pressure to make Sniper panic, but not enough to render him unconscious, or worse. Slowly, he tugged on the wooden handles of the garrotte, forcing Sniper's head back.

His back began to arch in response to the continued pressure. With one hand, Sniper continued to try and tug the wire away from his throat, with the other, he pushed the front half of his body away from the floor. His arm started to shake. His back began to ache. There was only so far he could arch his spine with the Spy's weight on it. But there was nothing else he could do. No way out.

Behind him, close to his left ear, he could hear the Spy's heavy breathing. And off to his right... footsteps?

Hope swelled in his chest.

Dark hair. Round glasses. Pale lab coat. Bloody bonesaw.

The feeling of hope stuttered and failed. Not his Medic. The BLU.

'You know...' the Medic began. The Spy's hands jerked in surprise. Sniper gagged. 'I heard all that coughing and thought I'd either find an ally in need of my help, or an enemy I could help on his way. I didn't expect to find _this_.

Sniper couldn't understand a lick of French, but he could tell that the Spy's reply was a rude one.

'My, such language, Herr Spy!'

'Shouldn't you be somewhere else right now, Medic? Say, with your Heavy?'

'Yes. But alas, he is dead. And this is far more interesting. I mean, what is even going on here? Some kind of violent pilates class? What's this pose called, “Sniper salutes the sun?”'

The Spy's grip on the garrote tightened again. Sniper's right arm was trembling now from holding up his weight and his arched back was near breaking point. He couldn't stop tugging at the wire with his left hand though. He couldn't give up. He had to get free.

'This man,' the Spy began with venom, 'cost me a month's wages. I thought he deserved something in a return.'

'A month's wages? Really? Now that is impressive. You know, Herr Spy, you really do seem to _love_ hurting this man. It's as though, hmmm... as though something about it really works for you, really gets you going, gets the blood pumping, really turns you—'

'Shut up!'

Sniper had his eyes closed, all his concentration going into keeping himself up. The tiniest amount of oxygen could filter through to his lungs as long as he kept himself in this position. And as long as the Spy didn't tighten the wire.

'Touchy subject is it? Well, I guess I should be heading off in a minute. Unlike you, my team actually needs me. Besides, it's probably best if I leave you two to it. I imagine you'll be taking him sooner, rather than later?'

'Taking him where?' the Spy spat.

'Why... right there on the floor, I'd been assuming.'

One handle of the garrote slipped out of the Spy's hand. Sniper collapsed forward. He lay on the floor taking great, shuddering breaths. Even though he wasn't moving, he felt like the room was spinning around him. Sniper knew he should be using this chance to escape, but all he could think about was dragging oxygen into his lungs. The most pressing thing after that was curling up into a ball to stretch to work out the knots in his back. Then maybe he could think about escaping.

Behind him he heard the Spy pull himself hurriedly to his feet. He was making startled, indignant spluttering noises, so unlike his usual smooth retorts. 'How can you? I mean—why would you—I wouldn't—I mean—non!—Never!

He balled his hands into fists inside his kid-leather gloves as Medic hummed. It was an amused, disbelieving sound to go with his arched brow and smug smile.

'Oh, come now, Herr Spy. No need to be so coy with me. You said that stabbing people isn't your idea of foreplay but clearly some kind of violence is with the way you behave around this Sniper. I mean, I almost understand. He's not all that unattractive, atrocious fashion sense aside. And he is a sniper after all, with that rugged, outdoorsy look he's got going on, I wouldn't be surprised if he liked it rough.'

On the floor, the Sniper started to cough. The Spy couldn't tell if it was triggered by Medic's words or not. The RED seemed barely conscious. Still breathing though. Still alive. He should have fixed that before the damn Medic turned up.

The Spy snorted. 'I wouldn't know, Medic. Your own perversions have you barking up the wrong tree. I've not “taken” any sniper here on the floor or anywhere else besides.'

'Really now? That is a pity. Means I owe Heavy money.'

'What?'

'Well, we had this bet going you see... Most of the team's in on it actually.'

Something inside of the Spy's chest constricted. The team knew? No, wait. There was nothing to know. He'd never done anything to the Sniper, not really. He wasn't remotely interested in the man anyway. Not at all. Not at all...

'Soldier's got you down as a bottom kind of guy if you know what I mean. And Scout's put all his money on you two meeting for secret hook-ups at the weekend.'

The Spy's panicked worries fell away. A sneer spread across his face. The Medic was lying. There was no way his idiot teammates could all be in on something like that without it effecting how they behaved about him. The Scout especially. That brat's mouth ran a mile a minute and he had as much of a poker face as a small child pretending he hadn't smashed his mother's favourite vase. 'Oh _sure_ , I really believe you.'

Medic shrugged, unabashed at being caught out. 'Well, I still did lose that bet with Heavy. By the way, have you ever looked at the scar on that Sniper's face?'

'Obviously. I left it there.'

'It's just that I've been thinking about it lately. Have you noticed the way it could easily as be interpreted as two scars? I mean, You stopped at his eye, didn't you? Then started the cut again on the other side. Leaving him with two scars.'

'It's one scar!' the Spy snapped. ' _One_.'

'How long before you second scar him then?'

The Spy hissed in a breath. 'Never, Medic.'

The Medic tutted. 'You know, this whole business still seems rather strange to me. I think if I brought it up with the team, especially, say, Sniper, he'd think it were rather strange too. Kind of odd. A little... _queer_.'

'Oh you're one to talk! I know. I know about you and Heavy.'

For the first time during their encounter, the Medic's sarcastic smirk faltered, fear flickering behind his round glasses.

'Oh yes, I know all about that,' the Spy pressed. 'I have pictures.' It was a lie. He hadn't intended to reveal to the Medic that he knew about his secret relationship with Heavy until he had photographic proof to back him up, but the Medic had forced his hand.

'Heavy will kill you,' the Medic said, keeping his voice low. His eyes flicked to where the Sniper lay slumped on the floor, panting.

'No he won't. Not unless he wants certain incriminating photographs of the two of you spread around our base. And around RED's too, perhaps.'

The Medic's free hand clenched into a fist, the bonesaw in the other raising to chest height. The Spy stood his ground, expression neutral. Best not to goad the Medic with a smirk. Internally, the Spy was worrying. This meant he was actually going to have to find a way of getting those photographs if he wanted to keep the Heavy at bay. Though he was generally a quiet, relatively calm man, the Heavy was almost as dangerous as Medic, and very protective of him.

'All right then,' Medic said at last through gritted teeth. He lowered the bonesaw as he continued, 'I won't say a word about your... interest in the enemy Sniper. Don't go blaming me if someone catches you all the same. You really aren't as subtle as you think you are.'

The Spy shrugged off the insult, allowing a smug smile to slip onto his face. That was his Medic problem sorted.

'You admit it then,' Medic said, raising his chin haughtily.

'Admit what, doctor?' the Spy replied, still smiling.

'That you have an interest in him.'

'Oh yes.' Triumph flared in the Medic's eyes. 'But as I said, your perversions really do have you barking up the wrong tree.' The Spy knew that the best lies contained a little truth in them. He also knew that sometimes it was wise to give away a little truth in order to protect a much larger one. 'You might actually find this little experiment I've been running, interesting, Medic. Certainly out of all our teammates, I think you're the only one who's likely to understand it.'

The Medic's expression didn't change, but the Spy knew he had the German's interested. The Medic loved gossip and secrets and scientific (and unscientific) experiments and flattery. No matter how much he disliked the Spy, and vice-versa, he would be intrigued over this.

'You are familiar of course, with the theory of respawn-induced pressure points?'

The Medic rolled his eyes. 'Of course. It's just a theory though, I've— **'** He broke off, frowning at something behind the Spy. The Spy turned around to find the Sniper up on his hands and feet, crawling, slowly and unsteadily. It would have made him laugh if the Sniper hadn't been so close to the door.

'Oh no you don't!' he snapped. He closed the distance between them and slammed a foot into the Sniper's side, hard enough to make him keel over. He rolled onto his back, glaring at Spy from behind his tinted aviators. He couldn't fool the Spy though. He was terrified.

'Oh come on, Sniper, you're just delaying the inevitable. Roll over for me, come on boy, roll over.'

The Sniper's attempts at a retort ended in a coughing fit. The Spy seized the opportunity to grab hold of him by his shoulder and belt, and heave him over. The Sniper resisted, throwing out one arm to stop himself moving, and lashing out at the Spy with the other. His forearm caught the Spy across the face. The Medic snickered. The Spy gritted his teeth, pooling his pain into anger and his anger into aggression. With a snarl, he forced the Sniper over onto his front. One of the Sniper's arms were trapped under his body, but the Spy didn't care that he wasn't lying flat. He didn't care that the Sniper was trying to kick him either. All that mattered was that he could get at the Sniper's back.

There was a moment's indecision. The Spy hadn't had chance to check if this worked over the top of clothes. But trying to take any of the Sniper's clothes off would not only be difficult, it would also fuel the Medic's claims about him. He settled for peeling one glove off and worming his hand in under the Sniper's collar. The RED flinched, pressing his head back against the Spy's hand to try and stop it. The Spy shoved it down further and hooked his fingers in against the Sniper's spine.

The effect was instantaneous. The Sniper convulsed beneath him with a hoarse gasp. His whole body went as taut as a bow. He didn't breathe.

The Spy let go. The Sniper slumped bonelessly against the dusty floor, fingers twitching. He started breathing again, shallow and raspy.

'Not just a theory, after all,' the Spy said.

'Do it again,' the Medic replied. The Spy wasn't usually one for obeying orders but he did. He dug his fingers into the Sniper's spine for a beat of three, and then let go. This time the weak twitches in the Sniper's fingers spread through his limbs, giving the impression of a dying spider.

'Interesting,' the Medic admitted and the Spy pulled his hand free. 'Very interesting. I've never seen proof before that it was actually real. I can't say it's an experiment I've ever looked into myself. How did you do it?'

'Persistence. I took a new man to the battlefield,' the Spy nodded towards the Sniper, 'someone who hadn't been through respawn many times, and spent a about a month killing him him in exactly the same way. I targeted the same point again and again. Didn't always get it exactly right; people do have a habit of refusing to stand still when you're trying to kill them, but I was on target enough to be able to imprint a pressure point on him. Only recently found out it actually works though.'

'And the garrote?'

'Sorry?'

'What was that in aid of?'

'I wanted to see if I'd be able to elicit the same reaction from the Sniper while he was unconscious,' the Spy lied smoothly.

'So nothing to do with him costing you a month's pay somehow?'

'That might also have paid a part in it, yes.'

'I'm curious,' the Medic said, stepping forward. 'The theory goes that only the person who imprinted the pressure point can trigger it. I wonder if that's true?'

'Yes it is,' the Spy said quickly, something possessive and territorial rearing up inside him. 'I've already tested that.' Another lie.

'Ah, pity. I'd love to have a go at it myself though. Imagine what you could do with a pressure pointed enemy! Though, I presume you already have been...'

'Well, the RED Heavy's their other newest member,' the Spy said, ignoring Medic's snide comment. This was his Sniper. The Medic couldn't have him.

'Hmm. I'm not sure a Heavy would be the most suitable target. Though I could perhaps get Andrzej to help me with him...but no, their Medic would come looking for the Heavy, and he's bound to know about pressure pointing too. Pity. I'll just have to wait until their Scout gets replaced. Or maybe their Engineer. Pyro wouldn't work, it'd be too much effort trying to cut through that suit every time. A Spy would be easy to overpower but hard to find, hmm...'

'Well, it's all speculation until RED gets a new man or you get transferred somewhere else,' the Spy said, cutting the Medic off before he could continue his rambling. Personally, he preferred the second option, but the Medic seemed too happy where he was to ever want to transfer.

'Ah yes, I guess,' Medic said wistfully.

'Talking about transfers, won't your Heavy have come through respawn by now?'

'Oh! Oh yes!” I'd better go. I'll leave you to your... dubious business.'

'I think I'm done here,' the Spy said. He wasn't, but it was best to salvage what was left of his 'professional' reputation with the Medic. The Spy pulled his knife from his pocket. The Sniper was starting to regain his senses and might be about to attempt another escape. With great reluctance he put the Sniper out of his misery with a clean backstab. To the usual place, of course.

When he looked up at Medic he caught sight of an expression that could only be described as calculating. It was gone a moment later, replaced with something more neutral.

'Well as fun as that was, Herr Spy, I need to be getting back to Andrzej. I would say, “see you soon”, but if you are even a half-decent spy, I expect not to.'

The Spy decided to let that one go, just giving the Medic a curt nod in farewell. He'd keep a look out for that man though. For all that he was a coward, the BLU Medic could be a dangerous man.

 

That evening the Spy lay on his bed, flipping his balisong absent-mindedly while deep in thought. He found himself dwelling on his encounter with the Medic. The Spy was going to have to get those photos of him and the Heavy. It would be an unpleasant, tedious and potentially dangerous task. The Spy was also going to have to pay closer attention to his teammates. Though he didn't believe the Medic about them all making bets on his “relationship” with the enemy Sniper, it was a matter that deserved closer scrutiny. Now that the Medic had mocked him for not 'being as subtle as he thought,' the Spy was feeling paranoid. What if someone else on his team really did suspect that his interest in the Sniper was a _slightly_ unprofessional one? Best to keep an eye out for any odd behaviour around him. And best to revisit what blackmail he had on each of them, just in case.

The Scout? His mother of course. Any threats to visit her again would keep him quiet. If not, threatening to expose his kleptomania. There were others on his team who would certainly like to know exactly where missing items of theirs were.

The Engineer's past criminal history was his weak point. It would nothing to the other mercs, most of whom had committed far worse offences. The Engineer liked to try and pose himself as the good, virtuous member of the team though. He'd hate the others to know about it, his precious little Scout especially.

The Spy could deal with the Medic and Heavy together if only he could get his hands on the right incriminating evidence.

The Soldier was tricky. The Spy would probably have to spend time worming his way into the insane man's fictional world in order to find something in his “past” that he felt guilty enough about to be able to blackmail him with.

The Demoman had already mentioned enough during his drunken rambles for any number of things to be used against him. The Scot drank to forget but often ended up loudly dwelling on his past instead. The only difficulty the Spy might have would be working out what the rest of the team already knew about.

The Pyro would be the hardest to blackmail, what with that firey temper and 'burn things first, ask questions never' attitude. However, the Pyro was also the one with potentially the most to lose if _her_ secret ever came out.

But what about the Sniper? He was a very reserved, quiet man, and a very boring one too, from what the Spy had gathered from his snooping. What was there about him that Spy could use? What was there that he'd never want his teammates to know about? What...

The Spy's thoughts drifted off, pulled inescapably towards one particular aspect of his conversation with the Medic like a ship caught on the edge of a maelstrom.

The Medic thought that he was actually-that he'd-to the Sniper-that they'd...

The worst thing about it was that the Spy couldn't work out if the Medic thought there was something kinky but consensual going on between them or if he actually thought-as if he'd ever-that just wasn't-no. Not possibly-who would ever think he'd-

_The creaking of a bed next door._

_Fingers in his ears._

_He couldn't drown it out._

_Or the other sounds._

_He didn't understand. Not really._

_Knew it was a kind of violence._

_Knew it was bad._

_He wished it would stop._

_StopstopstopstopstopSTOP!_

_But there was nothing he could do._

_Hadn't tried._

_Too scared. Too small. Too weak._

_He hated it._

_One day he'd be the big guy. One day he'd be the one to make people afraid._

_One day he'd do the hurting; make the world pay for how little it cared._

_But not this._

_Never._

The balisong had cut through his glove. The Spy could feel the sting of where it had sliced through skin. He kept flipping the knife around his hand. Around and around and around. Faster and faster.

_'If not you, then him.'_

_That threat. It crushed all rebellion left in either of them._

_Except,_

_Except..._

_Except._

The balisong slipped through his blood-slicked fingers. It landed on the covers, staining white linen red. The Spy didn't notice, his eyes staring at the wall ahead, hazy and unfocused.

Except his stepfather took whatever he wanted. If he'd wanted his new woman's kid, he would have had him.

All those years... all these years, he'd thought... they'd both thought...it was the only way.

But the Spy wasn't his stepfather.

No.

Never.

His stepfather had taken whatever he wanted.

The Spy wanted the RED Sniper.

But he didn't want to be his stepfather.

So.

Which did he want more?

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Sniper needs a haircut and RED Spy has all the answers.


	36. The Barbershop Confessional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an illustration in this chapter now! Thanks goes to [Zeniart](http://zeniart.tumblr.com/post/152827835416/commission-2-of-2-for-iloveteamfortresstoo) for this one! The link should take you to their blog and to the original post for this picture where you can see all the detail on the wonderful tattoos!

'Sniper?'

Sniper stopped dead in his tracks halfway down the corridor, and pulled his hat down low over his head.

Spy locked the bedroom door behind himself and headed down the corridor after Sniper, who shifted awkwardly where he stood as he tried to think of an excuse that would allow him to leave before the Spy engaged him in conversation.

'Didn't fancy it either?' Spy asked.

Damn, too late.

'No, it's not that. I would have gone, I mean, I don't know Engineer that well but it sounded like it could be fun. Just, I couldn't, you know?' It was the Engineer's birthday. The rest of the team had gone into town to spend Saturday evening celebrating it with him, leaving Sniper behind by himself. Or at least, that’s what he’d thought.

'Ah. Of course, your contract.'

Sniper nodded and tugged his hat down lower. He hated bringing it up.

'Would have been fine if it was just a week later,' he said. Just one more week until his three month probation period was over, then he'd be allowed off the base during his free time.

'What excuse did you give?' Spy asked.

'Uh, just said there was stuff I needed to do,' Sniper admitted. He wasn't sure if the Engineer had been disappointed or glad to hear it; those goggles of his made him even harder to read than Spy.

'What about you though?'

'Urgh, I hate the bar he chose and he knows it,' Spy replied. 'I would say he picked it just to spite me if I didn't know he loves it so much. It's so...rustic, to be polite.'

'Ah, right.'

Sniper hoped it was the end of the conversation when Spy didn't say anything more. Maybe that meant he could go now? His eyes flickered to the Spy's face. He was frowning at Sniper's hat. Or more likely, what was under it.

'Sniper, what have you done?

'Nothing,' Sniper mumbled.

' _Sniper_.'

'You know what, there's this thing, uh, that I need to go do now. Uh, bye, Spy!'

'Sniper.'

Sniper had only managed to get a couple of steps away. He stopped, shoulders hunched, feeling like he was about to get told off.

'Sniper. Hat. Off.'

'Uhhh...'

Spy closed the distance between the two of them and snatched the hat off Sniper's head.

He was quiet for a moment and then let out a long sigh.

'Sniper...'

'I'm sorry.'

'What are you apologising to me for?'

'I'm not sure,' Sniper replied honestly. There was just something so parentally disapproving about Spy right now that it made him feel as though he was five again and had just been caught drawing on the walls by his mother.

'Right, let's go get this sorted.'

'What? But I can't go into town!' Spy knew this. They'd only just brought it up.

'We aren't going into town. Why on earth didn't you wait one more week until you _could_ go to a proper barbers for a haircut though?'

'Uh, well,' Sniper said, a hand drifting up to try and pat down his tufty hair. 'There were these flicky bits in my sideburns Scout kept bringing up and the rest was getting long and annoying me and kind of irritating me around the collar and I thought I could maybe just trim a bit but then once I'd done that I kind of had to do more to try and make it match but then it went wrong so I had to do even more and then it kind of ended up—'

'A mess.'

'Yeah...'

'Nothing I can't fix. Follow me.'

'What, you?' Sniper asked as he hurried after Spy, who was heading back the way he'd come from.

'Yes. I am a man of many talents, you know. Now wait here just a moment.' He unlocked his door, disappeared back into his room and reappeared a couple of minutes later with a red towel and a large wash-bag in his arms.

'Right then, this way.'

Sniper trailed after Spy, not sure if he wanted to go but feeling like he had no other choice. Spy led him to the changing room next to the gym. 'Sit down here for me please, Sniper,' Spy instructed, pointing to a spot on the bench in the middle of the room. Sniper did as instructed and watched warily as Spy swung open a locker door to reveal a thin full-length mirror attached to the inside. 'Something left behind by the previous Spy,' Spy explained. 'I would not be so vain.'

Sniper found himself looking at his own frowning reflection. Spy snatched the hat off his head and set it aside. The Sniper in the mirror's frown deepened. The light in the changing room was better than in the bathroom. Now he could see exactly how much of a mess of it he'd made.

Spy bustled around, laying out scissors and combs and draping the towel over Sniper's shoulders. Sniper flinched at that. Spy chuckled.

'Feeling a bit jumpy today, are we, Sniper?

'Just don't like having a spy right behind me holding sharp instruments, that's all,' Sniper muttered as Spy reached for the scissors.

'Ah. That is understandable. I promise I'm here to cut your hair, not your throat!'

Sniper couldn't stop himself from reaching up to brush fingers across his neck. Even though respawn had erased any signs of that particular death, every time Sniper thought about it he swore he could feel that garrotte pulling tight around his throat again. Last night he'd dreamt Carl from back in Australia had been strangling him on his bed while Michelle bled-out next to him, just out of reach. Even though it hadn't been real, the memories of that dream kept flashing through his mind as often as those of the BLU Spy attacking him.

'I must confess, it has been rather a long time since I last did this,' Spy said cheerfully, unaware of Sniper's distraction. 'Go easy on me, won't you?'

Sniper's focus shifted back to Spy as he pulled off his jacket and slowly, as if reluctant, rolled up his shirt sleeves. Sniper's eyes wandered over what he could see of those strange tattoos as Spy wet a comb and tried flatten Sniper's hair down.

'My Mum always used to just stick a bowl over my head and use the sheep shears on any hair that came down lower than that,' Sniper said, the recollection unexpectedly tugged out of the back of his mind.

'Oh dear,' Spy said with a soft laugh. 'I promise I can do you something better than that, Sniper. Though I may have to take off a bit more off here than I'd like...' Spy mused. 'Might end up being a bit of a “short back and sides” deal. Though not short enough for Soldier to approve of, I suspect.'

'Um, okay,' Sniper said. He didn't really mind what Spy went for. As long as his hair stopped looking like a bird's nest and tickling at the back of his neck, Sniper would be happy.

He stiffened at the first loud _snip_ right next to his ear. God, he'd forgotten how much he hated that sound. It hadn't been as bad when it was him doing it himself. Now he remembered why his mother had always gone for the quickest and easiest method available.

Sniper bunched his fists up over his knees, his entire body tense.

'Sniper, I've told you, I'm just here to cut your hair!'

'And I told you: Spies, behind me, sharp instruments, not comfortable,' Sniper ground out through gritted teeth.

Scissors flashed silver under the changing room lights. Away from his back though, not towards it.

'You want me to stop?' Spy's voice sounded flat. Sniper had no idea if he was just giving him space or if he was angry.

'No,' Sniper said after a moment. 'I'm just... I'm sorry. Keep going. Please?'

Spy resumed cutting his hair while Sniper tried to force himself to relax.

'So, going anywhere nice this year?'

'What?' Sniper hadn't imagined it, had he, they'd definitely mentioned his contract, right? He wouldn't be going anywhere “nice” for another ten years. No, wait, eleven. He'd almost forgotten the price he'd had to pay for shooting his BLU stalker out of bounds and out of hours. Whereas for a similar offense the BLU had just had a month's wages docked...

'Well, isn't that what people are supposed to ask when they cut your hair?' Spy replied. He quirked a smile at Sniper's reflection in the mirror and Sniper forced himself to smile back.

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

Sniper found himself casting around for something to take his mind off of the sound. He needed to get Spy talking.

'Spy?'

'Hmm?'

'What's with those tattoos?'

'I was a young man and foolish, and like many young, foolish men, I made a poor decision. One I've had to live with for the rest of my life.'

'Oh. I mean, it's not like they're bad or anything...' Though in truth, Sniper knew he could do better.

'Hmm.'

Sniper had no idea what that was supposed to mean, apart from the fact it ended the conversation.

They slipped back into silence. Spy seemed happy enough, humming to himself faintly as he worked, a cigarette between his teeth. Sniper on the other hand, found himself growing more tense with every snip of the scissors. And not just because of the sound. Why was the Spy doing this? Why was he going out of his way to help someone else with such a mundane task? Especially when that someone was a man he'd already made a conscious decision to betray? He'd sold Sniper out, given vital information about him away to the enemy for who knows what reason.

So why? Why this? Sniper might not have have been the best judge of character by his own omission, but going to these lengths to pretend everything was fine between them baffled him beyond belief.

'Why did you tell him?' Sniper blurted out. He held his breath, fists clenched against his knees, waiting for an answer.

The Spy paused, lowering the scissors. 'Tell who, what? If you're referring to Scout knowing about your contract, I'm afraid you were the one who accidentally gave that away yourself...'

'Not him. The BLU Spy.'

Sniper waited for Spy to react. Waited for him to hotly deny it or lie or show his true colours and mock Sniper for ever believing in him, or for Spy to simply stab him.

When nothing happened, Sniper glanced up at the mirror. For a moment he caught sight of something on the Spy's face. Horror? Pain? Regret? Shock? He couldn't tell.

'I...' the Spy's arm dropped slowly to his sides. 'I made a mistake.'

'A mistake? You told him my name! You told him— you told him...' Sniper couldn't bring himself to say it, to acknowledge his interest in men. Sniper's face began to burn just thinking about it. No wonder he'd betrayed Sniper. Any good, straight man would want to reject someone with more... varying tastes, rather than work with them.

Except Spy was still working with him. And he hadn't outed Sniper to the rest of the team. And he hadn't shied away from spending time alone with a man who might potentially try and hit on him. And he'd said he'd made a mistake...

'Yes, I did,' Spy agreed, closing his eyes in shame. 'I'm sorry, Sniper. I’m so sorry.'

'What else did you tell him?' From what Sniper had gathered, it had sounded like a lot. A horrible idea occurred to him. 'Does he know where I come from? My parents' names?'

Spy's pained silence gave him his answer. Sniper slowly turned around to find Spy staring at his own feet.

'I...' Spy began. He coughed to clear his throat. 'I tried to make a deal with him. He'd stop killing you unprofessionally for a full three months and in return I'd give him your file.'

'Doesn't sound like much of a deal from where I am!'

'No,' Spy agreed slowly. 'The enemy Spy has a habit of obsessing over killing different members of our team for short periods of time. I thought three months would be long enough for him to forget about harassing you, or for you to get used to the fighting here enough to be able to deal with him by yourself.'

'I can deal with him myself!’ Sniper argued. ‘I haven't even been here three months though,' Sniper added. 'I'm still a week off that yet and he's definitely not acting “professional” around me at the moment!'

'I wasn't able to give him a physical copy of the file.'

'Well thank fuck for small mercies.’

'But because of that he refused to honour our original deal. In return for, uh, the information I had memorised, he only agreed to act professionally for part of that time.'

'So. You gave away my private information, just so the enemy Spy could spend a month or two impressing a pressure point on me?'

'I, ah—oh.' Spy slowly lowered himself down onto the bench, face angled away from Sniper. 'I hadn't made the connection,' he admitted quietly. 'He won't go after your parents though.'

'How the hell can you be sure of that?'

'I know him. I know how his mind works, to an extent. It's you he's focused on, not those around you, not even those you care about. Besides, they are in Australia, well out of his reach. Your parents are safe, Sniper. He isn't interested in them.'

Sniper wasn't entirely convinced but it did bring him some measure of relief. Still, there was himself to worry about.

'What else did you tell him?'

Spy rubbed a hand down his face, the motion tugging at his mask. 'Your blood type, countries you'd visited, relationship status, things like that. I didn't tell him about Michelle though.'

Sniper stiffened at the mention of her name. Of course. Spy knew. Shame washed over him.

He wanted to tell Spy. Wanted to explain. But he couldn't think of anything that would make him sound like anything but a murderer trying to excuse his actions. Which he was, Sniper realised. He wouldn't be here otherwise.

'And there's information you've told me or things I've observed about you that I told him nothing about,' Spy continued.

'Oh. Good.' He hoped. Sniper couldn't bring himself to ask what things about him Spy had “observed.” He was feeling bad enough about himself as it was.

'I'm sorry,' Spy said again. 'I made a gross error of judgement and you're the one who's suffered for it. If I could undo my actions, I would.'

Sniper didn't know what to say. He'd thought Spy was going to deny everything or else reveal himself to be an enemy. He hadn't expected an apology. But he couldn't bring himself to say it was fine and he forgave Spy because it wasn't and he couldn't. Not now. Not yet. Sniper still felt too bitter over it, and shocked at how much his teammate had willingly given away about him, for all the Spy's good intentions.

'I don't know if there's anything I can do to make up for my actions, but... I owe you answers. We spies have our reasons for hiding our faces and identities. We feel safest keeping our secrets close to our chests. But since I know so much about you that you would rather not have revealed—and shared too much of it with a dangerous individual— I think it's only fair that you may ask me any questions about myself. I will endeavour to to respond as truthfully as I am able to.'

'Oh.' Sniper hadn't been expecting anything like that. In the face of this golden opportunity, Sniper's mind went blank. He blurted out the first question that came to mind. 'What's your favourite colour?'

Spy laughed. 'Not the place I expected you to start. I should be saying red here, but I promised to be truthful so I'm afraid I am going to have to reveal the shameful secret that my favourite colour is in fact, blue. Though I must admit, it has been ruined for me slightly by association.’

'Mine's blue too!' Sniper said. 'Wait. Is that on my file?'

'Not that I recall,' Spy replied.

'Oh good.' He didn't want the enemy Spy to know that.

Sniper cast around for something else to ask. 'Okay, so what's your name? Your real name?'

'I would appreciate it if you never used it in front of anyone else, but my name is Antoine Darlan.’

'Antoine Darlan,' Sniper repeated. It sounded weird coming from him, not quite right without a French accent. It also felt weird having an actual name to attach to Spy. It wouldn't have mattered what name he gave, any would have seemed odd to Sniper. Spy was Spy.

Sniper wasn't sure where they went from here. He was sure that in an hour's time he'd have lots and lots of questions he would regret not having asked. But for now, he was struggling to think of any.

 

'Ant—' No, he couldn't do it. 'Spy, you know your sister?'

Spy stiffened, and then covered it up by joking, 'Yes she is single, no I can't give you her number.'

Sniper frowned. 'No, that's not what I was going to ask. I just wanted to know, is she, you know, properly okay these days?' Sniper had found himself often thinking about the story Spy had shared about his first ever kill, as preoccupied as he had been at the time. Could someone really rise above what she had been through? It had only happened to Sniper once, and as an adult, not a child, but he'd left his home country and all his connections behind in a bid to get away from the memory.

'Yes, she is,' Spy said, sounding surprised at the question. 'She's thriving in fact. Loves her job and she's excellent at it. Gabrielle's a real credit to RED.'

'Wait. RED? As in _RED_?

'Well yes, I did tell everyone she was a spy, didn't I?'

'Yes, but I thought you meant a proper spy! No, I mean, a real life spy; no, I mean, a, you know. Not a RED Spy.'

Spy snorted. 'No, not a real spy then.'

'I didn't mean it like that! I, just— I've never heard of women working for RED, that's all.'

'There's dozens of secret little wars like ours being fought all over America and beyond. At least two of those are between all female teams.'

'Wow,' Sniper said, 'I'd like to see that!'

'I visited one of those bases once,' Spy said with a wistful smile. 'It was terrifying.'

'What? How?'

'Half of them wanted to murder me for going anywhere near their base and the other half, well... And I honestly don't know which was more intimidating.'

Sniper laughed at the image. He didn't have a very good imagination, so in his head these female mercs looked pretty much like his team but with boobs and slightly less facial hair.

'Don't laugh! Spy said. 'You certainly wouldn't be laughing if a female Heavy had done to you what she did to me!'

'Oh.' Sniper hardly dared to ask but found he couldn't help it. 'What?'

'She pinched my bottom!'

Sniper started sniggering and found he couldn't stop. The word, 'bottom' had never been said so indignantly, and likely, in such a strong French accent before. Sniper felt like a child laughing at a friend's first naughty joke.

'Now, how about we go back to trying to fix your hair?' Spy suggested. 'I'm afraid that currently it's not looking much better than when we first came in here.'

Sniper forced himself to sit up, body shaking with suppressed laughter. He caught sight of a fond smile on Spy's face that faded to something more business like as Spy returned to assessing the hairy situation. Sniper's mirth faded as well. He remembered why he was angry at Spy. The feeling was more muted now though, less raw. Spy had made surprising progress in healing the wound in such a short time. In some cases, laughter really was the best medicine.

They both settled back into place, Spy taking up the scissors again. Sniper watched him, his eyes drawn back to the tattoos again.

'Spy?'

'Oui?'

'What actually _is_ the deal with those tattoos?'

 

 


	37. The Second Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever tell you when I'm next updating, don't believe me because for one reason or another I'll always end up being wrong. The same goes for how much of the story I think I'll be covering in any given chapter, or how many words I expect it'll take to write it. One day I will learn. One day.
> 
> There's an illustration for both this chapter and the last! For FF people you'll need to visit the tumblr blog, foeyayfanart to view them. For AO3 people, both are embedded in the chapters. If you are reading on mobile and the images are too big to view, the credit links will take you to a version you can hopefully see properly.  
> This time around it's a piece by the wonderful [Malisonquill.](http://quilsradomstuffyblog.tumblr.com/post/153143384112/illustration-for-chapter-37-of-foe-yay-art-by) (Thank you again, Mali!)

_'Spy?'_

_'Oui?'_

_'What actually is the deal with those tattoos?'_

 

Behind him, Spy paused again and looked away. Sniper watched him in the mirror silently. Spy had promised to tell him the truth, after all.

'After I graduated from that rather _unusual_ school of mine I was hired by an organisation to look into a smuggling ring. It was a long-term, deep undercover job. I had to find a way into the ring. Find out all their members, all their contacts, all their suppliers. Find out what their goods were, where they came from, where they went. Find out who was in charge of it all and which members of the police were being bribed to look the other way.

'They briefed me thoroughly beforehand, set me up with an air-tight new identity and a possible way in. But from then on I had to act alone. If I was caught they'd cut all ties to me and leave me for dead.'

Spy continued trimming Sniper's hair, his movements slow and precise as he told his story.

'I thought it would be easy. I’d come top of several of my classes; I was good at acting and I was good at spying. I'd have all the information they needed and be out again in record time. But the smuggling ring was wary of new-comers. It took a long time for anyone high-up to trust me. The ring was split up into smaller groups of men who worked in particular areas and with particular... products. I ended up with a group of eight other young men handling drug shipments at a dock. They weren't fond of me either. I was the new guy with a smart mouth and smart attitude.' The Spy broke off and laughed. 'Not as good as acting as I thought I was! But things started to change after a few weeks. Once we'd got a few fights over with and re-established the pecking order.

'I tried my best to keep myself distant from them but when you spend so much time with the same eight people, it can be difficult not to form bonds with some of them... And these men, they weren't what I'd expected them to be. A couple of them were idiots, sure, and another loved winding people up to get a reaction, and another couldn't even read, but... they were all human. All real people. Not just marks. Despite my best efforts, I found myself among friends.

'Another gang within the smuggling ring had matching tattoos. One of my _friends_ became obsessed with the idea, but no one could decide on one tattoo that could represent us all. Someone suggested we all come up with our own and then get all nine tattoos each. I stayed out of it. As a spy, I couldn't afford to having anything so easily recognisable anywhere on me. They made fun of me for it of course but nothing worse than I expected. They just wanted me to get the tattoos done with them. They were all annoyed at me when I refused, but they mostly forgave me. Things went back to normal. I'd got most of the information I'd needed from logs, rumours and meetings by then.

'As I said earlier, I was a foolish young man. I'd managed to convince myself then when I handed over the information, everyone in the smuggling ring would be arrested by the police and sent to prison. Because I was the good guy, wasn't I? Which meant the people I was working for had to be the good guys too.

'I almost didn't give them the last pieces of information they needed. Almost. I hesitated just before I confirmed I'd managed to copy the final ledger. I thought about my friends then. But I was so close to completing my mission. I passed along the final information and went back to my apartment as instructed. They'd told me not to come back the next day. I thought that if I was stealthy I could return to watch the raid or at least double-check they'd got everything..

'I was too late.' The Spy let out a heavy sigh. 'I was too late. The people I'd worked for had covered their tracks well but for a spy like I, there were plenty of clues left. There'd been a struggle. There'd been deaths.

'At that point... I knew. I knew really, but I couldn't believe it. I went to every location my friends had frequented. I went to my friends' houses, those that I knew of. Some of their families I'd met before. Their mothers, younger brothers, daughters... They had no idea what had happened or where their loved ones had gone. And I couldn't tell them. I just made my excuses and moved on, looking for any signs of them.

'But they were gone. And everyone else in the smuggling ring that I'd passed information on about. It was like stepping into a parallel dimension where everyone you knew never existed.

'The missing person reports started to filter into the news. I had to move on before anyone connected the dots. The organisation I worked for offered me another job but I turned it down. They were surprisingly considerate... said they understood what a toll deep undercover missions like this could have on the mind and body. They patted me on the back, congratulated me for a job well done and sent me on my way with a bonus.

'I tried... I tried to get over it. But I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done. The people I'd betrayed, the holes I’d ripped in their families. These were not good men, I was well aware of that. But neither was I.

Spy turned his head to run his eyes critically over his tattoos.

'I knew it was a foolish idea, but I had to do it. There was nothing I could do to right the wrongs I committed. No way to atone for my actions. But I could honour them and in a way, I suppose, punish myself at the same time.

'I have a good memory for images. I was able to tell the tattoo artist exactly what I wanted. Some of them didn't come out quite the same, but we worked hard to get them as close as possible.'

Spy twisted his arm from side to side, still studying his own tattoos as though they were new.

'These have made my job that much harder, but I've never regretted them. They are a constant reminder of my past mistakes. They keep me grounded. Keep me on the right path. Or as best as I can manage.' He tipped his head towards Sniper. 'But it doesn't stop me from making the odd gross misjudgement, all the same.'

Sniper didn't know what to say. He hadn't been expecting anything like that. Especially not for the Spy to admit so much of his own involvement or reveal so much of his raw regret.

'Sometimes,' Sniper said, not really sure where this thought was going, but speaking all the same. 'Sometimes you have to do stuff like that. Find your own way to grieve. Your own way to lay things to rest.'

He hadn't found his yet. Despite all the time that had passed, Michelle's death was still a festering wound he had no idea how to heal. Sniper still had so many questions. There was so much unresolved and unknown and unforgivable.

'Yes,' Spy agreed with a sigh. 'We're almost done now.'

Sniper frowned at the mirror. Not because Spy was doing a bad job, but because his reflection looked so alien to him. He hadn't seen this much of his ears for a long time.

Sniper still wasn't entirely used to the scar either. He'd avoided looking in the mirror as much as possible since he'd gained it. Sniper raised a hand to his face and prodded at the scar. If he pushed it down he could stop it pulling up his mouth on one side. If he pushed it up under his eye he could stop it from tugging his bottom eyelid down a fraction. As soon as he let go though, both returned to normal. Well, what was “normal” for him now.

He'd been lucky to Spy hadn't taken his eye out. Though really, when you looked at it closely it was clear he'd lifted the knife away to avoid doing so, before continuing the cut above his eyelid. The Spy had insisted it was only one scar. As though that was something important.

'Spy?'

'Yes?' Spy was giving Sniper's hair a final check over for any longer strands he'd missed.

'Does “second scarring” someone mean anything to you?'

For a split second, Sniper caught sight of a wide-eyed, startled look on Spy's face. Then it was gone.

'Right, I think that's you done,' Spy said, setting the scissors down with a clatter and tugging the towel off of Sniper's shoulders.

'Spy?' Sniper repeated as Spy shook the worst of the hair off into a bin set against the opposite wall.

'Where did you hear that phrase?' Spy asked quietly while folding up the towel.

'It was something the BLU Medic said while the enemy Spy was,uh, being his usual unprofessional self. The BLU Spy seemed kind of affronted when the Medic mentioned it. Or maybe upset. Or angry. Whatever it was, he wasn't at all happy when Medic said—' Sniper tried to recall exactly what it was the Medic had said. '—Something like, “How long until you second scar him?” about me.'

Spy walked past him and began to meticulously clean and pack away his things into the wash-bag. Sniper thought he was being ignored until Spy said, 'He's afraid of permanence. The BLU Spy, I mean. He's happy to taunt and bait and hurt people here as much as possible, because he knows that no matter how many times he knocks over the little row of tin soldiers, he can pick them back up and do it all again. No murder here is permanent. He does no permanent harm—'

'You looked at my face recently?' Sniper asked. 'This bloody great slash down my face is definitely permanent.'

'Yes,' Spy agreed slowly, studying the ground, brow furrowed. 'But with that, I imagine the excitement and the pressure of it spurred him on. Spies always scar new enemy Snipers. Always. And he'd been facing the same RED Sniper for ages, so he wouldn't have had a chance to do it in years...'

Sniper ran his fingers over the raised scar absent-mindedly. 'You know...he was angry, seriously angry, when he first saw this. He accused me of tampering with it in some way. Of making it come out like this on purpose. As though I would do something to try and fuck up my own face permanently just to spite him.' The Spy's strange assumption made a little more sense to him now.

Spy nodded. 'Somehow that doesn't surprise me. He’s always done everything he can to avoid admitting he’s made a mistake.'

'But still, what's this whole second scar thing about?'

Spy came back and sat down across from Sniper.

'You know the significance of the first scar, don't you?' He said, his voice, heavy and hushed.

'It's a “welcome to hell” kind of deal, right? An enemy spy leaves a scar on a sniper's face as part of them joining the war.' At least, that's the impression he's got. ‘Is there more to it than that?’

'Yes. It's also a kind of, uh, a marking their territory sort of thing as well. The rivalry between snipers and spies— I mean, _enemy_ Snipers and Spies, has been around as long as this war has been going on. Unfortunately, it has long been spies who seek to exacerbate the situation. This awful marking business is a product of that. Second scarring is something... Far worse.'

Far worse? Sniper couldn't think of much worse than a bloody great scar down your face.

'Here, there is so little that is permanent. Any death, no matter how unpleasant, can be forgotten. So if death is never permanent, and two people who hate each other to the fibres of their very beings are constantly killing each other, what does it take to truly “triumph” over the other?'

Sniper's hand drifted to the crocodile tooth he kept on a leather cord around his neck as he listened.

'Something that would stick with you no matter how many times you respawn,' Spy continued. 'Something that could make it hard for you to ever look at that other person again. Something that they could use against you again. Something you couldn't escape.'

'Rape,' Sniper said, his voice flat. He pulled the crocodile tooth free of his shirt with one hand, and with the other, held the cord taut.

'Yes,' Spy confirmed quietly.

Sniper moved the tooth up at down a small stretch of the cord over and over, staring at one of the lockers without really seeing it, shoulders hunched. He'd gone halfway across the world to escape. He was a thirty-one-year-old mercenary. He was tall and lanky and wiry and scarred. This wasn't a danger someone like him was supposed to be in. Not anymore.

'So that's what second scarring means,' Spy said, 'that an enemy Spy has assaulted them and left a permanent mark to add insult to injury.'

'But... why leave a mark anyone can see? I mean, why would you tell everyone what you've gone and done something like that to another bloke?'

'Because they aren't. The first scar is well known of across the bases. The second scar... It's kept much more hush hush. It took me a couple of years to learn what it meant myself. A new sniper joined the team I was with then. He was young. Very young. Good at his job, and rather cocky with it.

The enemy spy...destroyed him. His looks, his confidence, his aim. All ruined. And that Cheshire cat grin on the enemy spy's face whenever I saw him spot our sniper...' Spy rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. 'The whole thing was horrible. I never marked another enemy sniper again, not after finding out what the second scar meant. I refuse to be any part of that.'

'The BLU Medic knows about it,' Sniper pointed out.

'And so does ours, I believe. I guess if anyone else was going to find out about it, it'd be a medic. Especially ones who've been in this war such a long time.'

Sniper nodded. It made sense. He found himself imagining how awful it would be to not only go through that painful experience, to not only have to face your attacker every day, to not only have another scar to your face, but to also live in perpetual paranoia with no idea how many of your teammates or enemies might know what it means.

'What if a Sniper ended up getting cut some other way? You know, got an injury to their face that they didn't get a medic to look at in time? They could accidentally gain a second scar without it being anyone's fault at all.'

'Well in that case, I guess the enemy spy had better hope no one knows what it's supposed to mean and goes after him when he's innocent. I'm sure there are scarred snipers out there who are completely oblivious as to what other snipers and spies presume about their injuries. From what I know of them though, second scars tend to be obviously deliberate, often crossing over the top of the first to add emphasis.'

'What's to stop a sniper from doing the same thing back to an enemy spy though?' Sniper asked, still pulling the crocodile tooth back and forth, still staring off at nothing at all.

'I guess there isn't anything. I did once meet a RED Spy whose face under the mask had been butchered using some sort of large, hacking weapon. I got the impression that a sniper must have caused it by the way he spoke, but I have no idea of what the motivation might have been. It's possible it had nothing to do with second scarring at all.'

'Even for a place where you kill the same few people every day, this is pretty fucked up,' Sniper muttered.

'Yes it is. There are some things that bring out the very best and worst in people. War is one of them, and no matter how how strange thing are here, this is still a war.'

'Least it looks like the BLU's not interested in this little tradition,' Sniper said. 'Never thought he'd choose the option that wasn't, you know, as nasty as possible.'

'Permanence,' Spy said. 'It's unlikely to be the only factor, but his dislike of leaving long-term damage and evidence behind is bound to have contributed.'

Sniper nodded in vague agreement, but inside he was thinking about how much the BLU Spy's behaviour had already affected him. He was more paranoid than he used to be. Less trusting and confident, more suspicious and wound-up. Some of his deaths at the BLU Spy's hands had really stuck with him too. He guessed the two of them had different opinions on what counted as long-term damage.

'I must admit that I had been worried about it though...' Spy added.

Spy's fussing made sense now. Medic's too, Sniper realised.

'I don't need a babysitter you know. I can look after myself.' It was horribly emasculating to have two other men hovering over him, worrying that he might get sexually assaulted, like they were the parents of a college girl who'd just left home for the first time. Sniper was a fully-grown man. He was an assassin. A killer. He'd survived the Australian outback. He'd survived attempted murder at age eleven. He'd survived the loss of his fiancée. He'd survived prison. He could survive anything the BLU Spy had to throw at him. Couldn’t he? Sniper quickly tramped down his uncertainty.

'I'm not trying to be your babysitter! I'm trying to be your teammate! I'm trying to support you because, well, I'm a spy, I _am_ support!' The Spy's shoulders slumped. 'I just want to be able to offer you help if it's needed. I don't want to intrude. I don't want to bother. It's just, well, as you heard, there are people in my past that I didn't help and I regret it. I don't want to make that same mistake again.'

Spy was so different from the men Sniper had known growing up. For all the aura of mystery about him, once he started telling the truth about himself, things became raw, honest and in a sense, emotional. It wasn't the way Sniper was used to other men acting. It threw him, left him uncomfortable. On one hand it made him want to tell the Spy to shut up and man up. On the other, it made him want to spill everything out himself, every worry, every insecurity, every fear he'd been taught to bottle up all his life until he felt like he was going to explode.

'Sorry,' he muttered. 'It's just...' Sniper tried to find a way of putting his complicated thoughts into simple words. 'I just don't want to be a burden to the team, that's all. If you're always having to look out for me on the battlefield, that means you don't have as much time for doing what you're supposed to be. I can't go distracting you from your work when you've got another seven teammates you need to support as well. Not to mentions, nine targets you need to keep working on taking out.'

'Sniper, you watch my back, and I watch yours. It's what teammates are for.'

'Yeah...' Sniper agreed. It still didn't seem like a fair trade to him, not with all the trouble the enemy Spy was causing.

'I've lost track of the amount of times I would have died if it wasn't for a timely headshot to a BLU! Not to mention the amount of times I've been about to stab someone only for them to fall dead at my feet thanks to you.'

'Oh, sorry about that.'

'Don't be. Every backstab is risky. You allow me to stay in disguise or under cloak for longer so I can concentrate on my key targets better. Now. An important question for you, Sniper.'

Sniper shifted uncomfortably. He hoped it was one he was okay answering.

'What do you think of the haircut?'

'Oh! Uh—' He'd almost forgotten about that, but was happy for the distraction. Sniper turned back to the mirror to study his reflection. A short back and sides haircut as Spy had promised. It was a little rough in place, but that was down to Sniper’s earlier attempts and a lack of hair clippers, rather than anything Spy had done wrong.

'Uh, it's good. Yeah. Tidy. Definitely a lot better than before and a lot better than I could do! You know, as I proved earlier.' He broke off with an embarrassed laugh. 'It's gonna take some getting used to how different it looks, but yeah, big improvement. Thanks, Spy.'

'You're more than welcome. I'm always happy to help a teammate in need. I'm sorry that our conversation hasn't been... on the lightest of topics.'

'Nah, it's okay. Thanks for, you know, telling me the truth.'

'I'm sorry I didn't mention the scar thing to you earlier, but I didn't want to cause you any unnecessary worry. You deserve to know though.'

Sniper nodded. 'Yeah, it's heavy stuff and all, but I'm happier knowing. That whole “what you don't know, can't hurt you” saying doesn't always work, after all.'

'Good thing too! As a Spy, I rely on people not knowing I'm there _so_ I can hurt them!'

 

That night, Sniper dreamt he was in bed with Michelle. He was kissing along her collarbone, her neck, her jaw. Before he could reach her mouth, Michelle moved away. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I've got to go.'

Awww, don't,' Sniper whined, 'Stay here where it's warm, with me.' He aimed for a playful tone of voice but ended up sounding needy.

'I've got to go,' she repeated, pushing aside the covers and pulling herself out of bed.

'Nooo, don't want you to,' Sniper said, rolling over to press his face into the pillow. 'You should stay here,' he added, voice muffled by the pillow. 'Stay with me.'

'I'm sorry honey, I can't. I'm starting my new job today.'

Unexpected dread flooded through Sniper. He raised his head to find Michelle already halfway into a BLU Spy uniform.

'No! Don't!'

Michelle looked around at him, eyebrows pinched in confusion, a blue balaclava in her hands.

'It's just for my job,' she said. 'I need to.' She raised the mask towards her face.

'No!' Sniper shouted. He tossed the covers aside and leapt out of bed. 'Please, don't! I don't want to have to hurt you!'

He wrapped his arms around her in a desperate hug. 'I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to go.' But he was too late. It wasn't Michelle anymore; the BLU Spy stood in her place.

'You're mine,' the Spy said, a strange note of Michelle's voice and accent mingling in with his own. Then he stabbed Sniper in the back.

Sniper woke up with a yell. He had no idea who had made the noise until he realised there was no one else around. His sheets clung to him with sweat, hot and tangled and hard to escape. He fought his way out of them to perch on the edge of his bed, head bowed, legs dangling.

It seemed as though it was going to take his brain some time to process everything the Spy had told him. He just hoped his subconscious wouldn't twist the information into further nightmares. Sniper didn't need any more of them.

 


	38. Ink Slinger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some art by the talented [Maketheshippingstop](http://maketheshippingstop.tumblr.com/) for this chapter :) (As in I saw the sketch and was like, 'Ooh, can I nick that for the next chapter, ppppllleeaasse?)

Spy had intended to give the Sniper a wide berth that morning, thanks to Medic's allegations the day before. But somehow he'd still ended up cloaking and heading straight off to find him. As the Spy had predicted when the RED Sniper first started working at the base, now he knew which were the best sniping spots, he'd become much easier to predict. And much easier to track down.

The Spy found him in the second place he looked. His fingers reflexively reached for his knife but he stopped himself. No reason to stab the Sniper yet. Why not stay cloaked for a while and observe the enemy's work?

That's when the Spy realised there was something wrong with his Sniper. It took him a moment longer to identify what it was. Sniper's hair. He'd cut his hair. How dare he.

It was hard to make out the extent of the damage thanks to that damn hat, but the Spy could see those little flicks where his Sniper's hair met his collar were gone. How. Dare. He.

The Spy's lips pulled back into a silent snarl. His, no, _the_ Sniper was getting backstabbed for that. The Spy flicked his knife open and slunk towards his target.

The Sniper was far more paranoid than he used to be, glancing over his shoulder so often that he had to be missing headshots over it. Good, hi— _the_ Sniper had learnt one of the valuable lessons the Spy had to teach him. If only he'd let the Spy get close enough to show what else he could offer...

But there were more important matters to attend to right now.

With one fluid movement, the Spy uncloaked and stabbed the Sniper in the back. It was a rather unappreciated art how precise you had to be to get such a manoeuvre to work. Especially to get it to almost instantly kill an opponent, rather than just paralyse them. The Spy considered being a little more sloppy with his next attempt. That could prove to be...entertaining. But if the Medic saw-well, perhaps it was best to be his normal, entirely professional self instead.

Now for the matter at hand. The Spy snatched the Sniper's hat off his head and then allowed the body to collapse onto the floor. He stood over the corpse, scrutinising the new haircut, and pushing the Sniper's head to one side with the toe of his shoe to get a look from a different angle.

The Spy's pursed his lips into a thin, disapproving line. The new haircut wasn't _bad_ exactly, though perhaps a little rough. But it was a change. An unexpected change that the Spy had had no influence over. He didn't like it.

He leant down and knotted his fingers angrily into the Sniper's hair, digging into the scalp. He was still like that a few moments later when respawn took the body away, his hand left grasping at empty air.

He wouldn't do anything else the Medic might find questionable this match, but he was still going to make sure he got a domination on the RED. His Sniper couldn't be allowed to think that this kind of behaviour was acceptable.

 

Sniper was glad when the match ended. His team had won, and he knew he should be happy about that, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to be. The BLU Spy had put him through respawn so many times and he'd only managed to return the favour twice.

As he'd promised his team's Spy, Sniper had moved his van closer to the base. He'd found himself spending less time in it than he'd used to. Demo was happy about that and Medic and Spy clearly thought it meant he'd become more sociable, but in reality he just didn't feel as secure in his own home anymore.

That said, he had found himself falling asleep in the base more than once (and usually in odd places; Sniper had the enviable ability of being able to sleep anywhere), and he wouldn't have been able to previously. Sniper had no problem falling asleep in uncomfortable places, but he did have to be comfortable with the people around him to do so. He trusted these men, Sniper realised. He trusted his teammates.

He ended up staying in the base after dinner to play poker. It was a good thing Sniper was only been betting the lager he'd won in a game of pool against Demoman, because he lost horribly. He just didn't have the knack for keeping a proper poker face. Sniper wore his heart on his sleeve, it appeared. To his surprise, it had been Engineer who won, not Spy. Spy wasn't happy about that.

After the game Sniper wandered out of the building, feeling cheerful and a little bit tipsy, thanks to Demoman.

That's when he heard a strange noise.

'Ouch!'

'Mur murpth muh!'

'Shhhh!'

'Scurpth?'

'Cut it out, Pyro! I don't want anyone coming over, okay?'

'Bur...'

'Shhh.'

Sniper tipped his head to one side, curious. He followed the sound around the corner and into the courtyard. There, under one of the spotlights and in front of a small fire, sat Scout and Pyro.

'Uh, what are you guys doing over here?'

'Urgh, Pyro, look what you did.'

'Surruh...'

'Nothing, Sniper. We're doing fuck all.'

Not the slightest bit convinced, Sniper approached them. Scout scooted away from him on his butt, turning so that Sniper wouldn't see what was in his hand.

But he was too late.

'Scout, don't! I know it feels good at the time but the long term side-effects and the addiction and the—'

'Ah fuck, no man,' Scout said, giving up on hiding the needle in his hands to show it to Sniper. It was filled with a dark liquid. 'It's not drugs okay? It's just ink.'

'Ink?'

'Yeah...' Scout said. He sighed with resignation. 'Look, before you ask, I've already tried the tattoo place in town, right, and they won't do me any tats 'cos I haven't got any ID. Stupid fuckers. So I just had to try and do it myself. It's not like anything can go properly wrong, can it? Not with doc around.' Scout eyes widened. 'But if you tell Medic about this, I swear to god I will bat your head in.'

Sniper was frowning at him, but not really listening. 'What type of ink is that?'

Scout shrugged and tilted the needle while looking at it. 'Uh, just normal pen ink, you know? It was really difficult to get enough in here to be honest.'

'Pen ink,' Sniper said flatly.

'Yeah.'

'Pen ink in a medical syringe.'

'Yeah...'

'You moron, Scout. Let me see it.'

'Okay, so first of all, fuck you. Second of all, see what?'

'The damage.'

'Damage?'

'Onpth hipth legpth,' Pyro said, pointing towards Scout's left calf.

Sniper leant over Scout, catching sight of a wavering line of smudged black dots and beading blood.

'Scout—'

'Just shut up! I don't want to hear it. You old men lecture me enough as it is, I don't need anymore! I tried, okay? I tried! I made sure it was a clean syringe and I wrote and asked one of my brothers who got a friend to do him some tats for advice and me and Pyro sterilised the needle in the fire—'

'Huddah huddah!'

'And I tried to start off simple and I just wanted it to work but I kept fucking it up even though I was trying really hard and I know it's a stupid thing to do and it's not working but I did my best so I don't need any damn lectures, okay?'

Scout took a deep breath. Before he could continue on with his rambling, Sniper said, 'Look, Scout, here's what we're gonna do: We're gonna get your arse over to the Done Something Stupid Dispenser because yes, you've done something stupid.'

Scout opened his mouth to argue.

'But what we aren't going to do is tell Medic, not if you agree to stop poking needles full of pen ink into your leg and let a professional tattoo you instead.'

'I've told you, I can't! They won't give me a tattoo without any ID because they're fricken' morons!'

'Nah, yeah. I'll do it for you.'

Scout snorted. 'Hah, right, good one! Just 'cos you stick 'n poked a few guys in prison or whatever doesn't mean I'm letting you get your grubby hands on me!'

'Prisumpth?' Pyro asked.

'I'm talking proper, professional tattoos in a proper, professional tattoo parlour,' Sniper said. Though yes, he had given the odd stick-and-poke tattoo to fellow inmates at the prison. Once his artistic skills had been discovered, he'd ended up much in demand. Sniper had ended up being known as 'the dirty drawings guy,' which in his opinion, wasn't very fair. It wasn't his fault that what nearly everybody wanted from him was pictures of naked ladies. There just wasn't much demand for a nice landscape drawing in prison.

'Okay then, Scout said sceptically. 'Show me yours.'

'Mine?'

'Your tattoos.'

'I don't have any.'

Scout folded his arms. 'My Ma always says you should never get a tattoo done by someone who hasn't got tattoos themselves. It's like eating at a restaurant that has a skinny chef; you don't do it.'

'Look, the only reason I haven't got any is because I know I'll never be able to create a tattoo that I'll still be happy with in a few years time. I know that for a fact from looking back at my old sketchbooks. I've had tattoo needles stabbed into me in various places to make sure I know what parts hurt the most, if that's what you're worried about.'

Scout opened his mouth, looking as though he was about to argue.

'Besides, you were all for giving yourself a tattoo when you clearly haven't had any before now. So it's not like you could possibly be making a worse choice this way.'

'Oh,' Scout said. 'Well, I mean. Can you even draw?'

'Yes.'

'Oh. Okay then. But I want to see sketches first!'

'Of course.' Sniper peered down at Scout's leg. 'What kind of thing did you actually want?'

'Wings! But like, not girly wings. Buff wings. Like huge, spread out wings.'

'On your leg?'

'No,' Scout snorted, as though Sniper was being stupid. 'This was just a test. I want them on my back.'

'And you were going to do that to yourself, how?'

'Pyro said he'd hold up a mirror for me.'

'Nuh ah didnpth.'

Sniper sighed. 'I promise you, mate, I can do better than that.'

The Scout still looked unconvinced. 'So, how long were you a proper tattoo artist for then?'

'About two months.' Give or take a couple of weeks. A friend at uni had got him into tattooing, but it had only been once he'd successfully managed to leave the assassination business behind that he'd got the job. Sniper received the good news just a few days after he'd gone down on one knee and asked Michelle to marry him. That was the happiest period of his life.

Less than two months later and she was dead.

'That's not a long time,' Scout said.

'Longer than you.'

'Jush guh fuh I', Scoupth, yu idiopth.'

'I still want to see sketches.'

'You will. But only if you go talk to Spy about getting hold of the right equipment.'

Spy had an amazing way of managing to get hold of anything that couldn't be found in the next town over or on a Mann.co supplies list. Special engine parts for Engineer, rare whiskeys for Demoman and questionable body parts for Medic were all just a Spy away. The delivery times were amazing too.

When Sniper had first started there, he'd been very suspicious of the arrangement, looking for the hidden costs. But it turned out that whatever Spy wanted in return, such as favours, money and cigarettes (and in Scouts case, silence) came with no extra catches and was generally easily affordable. And it turned out that what Sniper had thought was a smug smirk anytime Spy presented a teammate with their order (if it was something that could be handed over under public scrutiny, that was), was just a genuine smile over a job well done. Sniper couldn't help but think that he would have learnt to trust his team's Spy earlier if it hadn't been for the BLU one.

'Uh, I don't know...' Scout said.

'Why not? It's not like Spy's your dad. He's not gonna send you to bed without your dinner for telling him you're going to get a tattoo!'

'Pth. No, it's just that what if Spy thinks I'm copying him?'

'Yuh are, Scoupth.'

''Cos you see, I mean, you won't have ever seen them and you probably won't believe me but I'm telling the truth because I've seen them but Spy actually has these super wicked tattoos like all up one arm and there's loads of them and they are so cool. Like, there's this spider on a web and an anchor but there's like blood dripping off it and there's a rocket and a skull with diamonds in its eye sockets and all this other stuff. You know, like a full arm of them. A—ah, what do you call it? A, you know—'

'Sleeve of tattoos?'

'Yeah, that's the one! I know you probably don't believe me but I don't want Spy thinking I want a tattoo just because of his because I don't.'

'Yesh yuh duh.'

'I believe you. I mean, got no reason not to. I've seen them myself.'

'Wait, what, when?'

'When he did my hair.'

'Jeez, how drunk was he?'

'Hey, it's not that bad!'

'Ah finkpth ipth vereh nicpth, Snipuh.'

'I don't mean that, I mean I've only seen them when we've managed to get Spy really _really_ drunk.'

'Oh, well he was sober. I think. He just needed to roll his sleeves up to do it, that's all.'

'Fuck, that's just not fair!'

Sniper shrugged. 'Uh, sorry?' he said, though not entirely sure what he was apologising for here.

 

As Sniper walked away from the DDS Dispenser fifteen minutes later (man was that kid hard to get away from once you got him talking), he wondered why he'd even said he'd do this for Scout. The boy was obnoxious, loud and opinionated, the opposite of the company Sniper enjoyed. But at the same time, for all his swearing and occasional aggression, Scout wasn't nearly as antagonistic towards Sniper as he'd once been. Sniper doubted they'd ever be best friends but if this favour helped Scout get over his issues with him, it would be worth it.

Besides, Spy had gone out of his way to help Sniper the evening before. And as he'd said, they were both support. What good were they if they weren't supporting their teammates? Even if it was with their potentially dubious life decisions... It'd just have to be a really good tattoo.

As soon as Sniper got back to his van he flicked the light on, pulled out his sketchbook and pencils, and got to work.

 

The next evening Sniper discovered that Scout could be a surprisingly difficult person to find. During the daylight hours he could be anywhere at all, and after matches, anywhere inside the base. Whereas the other mercs had their set places they liked to hang-out or spend their time, Scout was not so predictable. This was due to his habit of going to any and all of those places, depending on which of his teammates he wanted to annoy with his company this time. Or at least, that's how Sniper saw it.

Sniper finally tracked Scout down to the rec-room on his second pass through the area. Scout was flicking through a Mann.co catalogue and complaining to the nearby Demoman about something.

'Hey, Scout,' Sniper said quietly, not wanting to get the attention of Demoman or the other two mercs on the other side of the room, Heavy and Spy.

'Fuck, man, don't sneak up on me like that!'

'Sorry,' Sniper said. He slipped his sketchbook out from under his arm. 'Got some sketches.'

'Already? Holy shit, that was quick! One of my brothers used to do some arty shit for college and that used to take him freakin' ages.'

'They're pretty rough,' Sniper explained. 'Didn't want to spend forever on something you weren't interested in. If any of these look good I'll go back and refine it.'

'Ah, cool!' For someone who had been so doubting of Sniper's artistic abilities, he seemed rather excited now.

'They start here,' Sniper said pointedly as he opened the sketchbook on the appropriate page. He didn't want Scout looking at anything else in there. Though the most off-limit pages were taped shut still. He'd never been able to bring himself to look back at those images.

'Oh! Oooooooh, fuck, this one's awesome! Oh shit, that one too! Oh, and that! And the spiky, knotty thing going on with this one.'

'Went for a bit of a celtic theme on that one.'

'Cool! I'm part Irish you know.'

Sniper wasn't surprised. Half the white Americans he'd met had claimed to be part Irish. It seemed like a miracle to him that there were actually any Irish people left in Ireland, with the amount of them that appeared to have ran off to the USA.

'These three are designed so they'd run down your back,' Sniper said, flicking forward a page. 'And these ones spread along your arms instead. They'd probably come out a bit smaller but they're the best way to depict an open set of wings.'

'Nice. I like the twisty feathers on this one.'

'I've been thinking it'd probably be best to go with something fairly detailed so it looks nice, but not too heavily shaded.' That way would save Sniper time and Scout some pain while still leaving him with a nice looking tattoo. Hopefully.

'Fuck, this is gonna be harder than I thought. I like all of them. They're all freakin' awesome.'

Sniper was glad Scout was too busy looking at the sketches to see his delighted smile. Sniper didn't share his art very often, but when he did he enjoyed the praise he frequently got. It was the one aspect of his life that he could be sure the compliments were honest and not just sarcastic comments that he missed.

'Hey, Demo, which of these do you think is best?' Scout said, turning the sketchbook around and holding it up for Demoman to see. He missed Sniper's panicked hand flapping motions behind him.

'Huh, what?' Demoman said, a can of beer halfway to his mouth. His good eye focused on the sketchbook. 'Niiiiiice. I like that knotty one. These tattoo designs or something? Who drew them?'

'Sniper, and, yes!'

Scout passed the sketchbook over before Sniper could swoop in and take it off him. Demoman flipped a page back. And then another. And then another. 'Oh, shit, look, it's Spy!'

Spy's head snapped up, attention diverted from the chess board between him and Heavy.

'No,' Sniper said quietly. 'Don't.'

Too late.

'Look Spy, Sniper drew you!' Demoman called, holding up the sketchbook. Spy stood up and walked over to them, Heavy following behind, looking curious.

'I draw everyone, okay?' Sniper said hurriedly. 'There's not much else to draw around here once you've sketched out the base and bits of the battlefield.' There were plenty of examples of that, but Sniper's main focus was generally people and animals.

'Sniper has drawn me as well?' Heavy asked hopefully, leaning over Demoman as he flicked further back.

'Look, here's you!' Demoman said. 'You're looking right scary here mate!' The sketch in question was of Heavy firing off his minigun, face twisted into a fierce grimace.

'Hmmm. Is good,' Heavy said, looking thoughtful. 'But that face, is how I look in battle?'

'No!' Sniper assured him

'Yep,' Scout and Demoman said together, nodding.

'Huh, I did not know this,' Heavy didn't seem too bothered though.

Spy flicked back to the one Scout had found of him. It was more than one in fact, there was half an A4 page dedicated to little sketches of the Spy's face from different angles, showing different expressions. Sniper squirmed while Spy studied the drawings in silence.

Finally he looked up and said, 'You have an amazing memory for detail, Sniper. These _are_ drawn from memory, aren't they? I'm sure I would have noticed otherwise.'

'Yes, uh, I'm rubbish with people but I'm good at remembering what they look like. But not just people,' he hastily added. 'Animals and places and stuff too.'

'My my, Sniper, you are full of surprises. What are we going to discover about you next? That you've got a wonderful singing voice?'

'Oh god no, I can't sing!'

'Ew. Is this the _BLU_ Spy?' Scout asked, pointing to a small sketch on the next page.

'I draw _everyone_ ,' Sniper reaffirmed.

Spy was frowning at the drawing. When he looked up and tried to catch Sniper's eye, Sniper pretended not to notice him.

To Sniper's relief, it turned out there weren't any nude men in this particular sketchbook. (There were in some of his older ones. Just for anatomy practice. Of course.) There did turn out to be one naked woman in it though. Sniper refused to see the funny side of it when Demoman and Scout were hooting and laughing over a rough sketch of Michelle's body that he couldn't even remember doing.

On another page they found a picture of her face, the lines criss-crossing over it not enough to hide her entirely from sight.

'Ooh, who is this?' Heavy asked with a grin.

'Got a right pretty little smile on her, this one,' Demoman said, elbowing Sniper playfully.

'She's, ah, she's...' Sniper said, trailing off. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Spy give him another questioning look.

'What are you doing with this sketchbook anyway, Scout?' Spy said, purposefully changing the subject. 'Did you steal it off Sniper?'

'No! Look Spy, look at these amazing tats Sniper's drawn for me!' He flicked back to the pages with the tattoo designs on, explaining in detail to Spy what he liked and disliked about each one.

'I do like the celtic one,' Spy said, 'and the ragged quality to the feathers on this one too,'

'Both are good,' Heavy agreed.

In the end, Scout couldn't made his mind of between either, leaving Sniper to draw a new design combining the two. It was unnerving-and frankly irritating-to have people hovering over him, watching him draw. Especially when both Demoman and Scout kept trying to give suggestions despite having no artistic skills whatsoever.

Finally it was finished and Scout happy with it.

'Right, now I just need to ask Spy to get me the tattoo-gun stuff and we can do this thing!,' Scout said. 'Wait, I thought he was in here...'

Sniper glanced around. He hadn't noticed Spy leave, but then again, he'd been busy.

'If I see him I'll ask him,' Sniper said. 'We'd best talk to Medic too.'

'Awww come on, no.'

'I’ve been thinking about it and the infirmary would be the most sterile location and if anything gets infected you'd want Medic to know about it.'

'And I guess having the medigun around wouldn't hurt. I'd been thinking we could do it next to the DSS Dispenser but that'd work too.'

'Uh, Scout,' Sniper said. 'You can't use either of those. It'd just undo everything.'

'Oh. Oh yeah.' Scout suddenly looked a lot more worried about it that he had been before. No wonder he hadn't been bothered at the idea of a tattoo hurting if he'd thought he wouldn't be feeling any pain.

'What if I just got a bit drunk beforehand?' Scout asked.

'Nope,' Demoman said, leaning over. 'It thins the blood. You don't want that if you're going to get Sniper to stab you hundreds of times.'

Scout was looking rather grey. 'It's fine,' he said. 'That's fine. I can do this.'

After confirming that Scout really did intend to go through with it, Sniper retreated back to his van. That'd been enough socialising for one night.

When he got there though, Sniper found his van was already unlocked. He tensed, hand flying to where his kukri would usually be. But that was inside. What if someone else was still in there? The light was on with the curtains closed. He'd thought that was just how he'd left it but maybe someone was in there right this moment.

Sniper slowly eased the door open. The interior of his van came into view a bit at a time. Nothing nothing nothing— 'Spy!'

Spy was sitting at Sniper's table, the last sketchbook he'd finished drawing in open in front of him.

'Spy, what are you doing here?' Was it a trap? Was it the BLU in disguise?

'This one,' Spy said, turning the sketchbook around to show Sniper a doodle of a stag's head. Spy pulled his jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeve. 'Here.' He tapped a blank space on his arm amongst the other tattoos.

'But it's not finished and I made a mistake,' Sniper said, pointing to the antler that only had the bottom tines drawn and a line that slashed across the stag's eyes from where he'd been startled while drawing.

'It's perfect.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's still reading and reviewing this fic! I don't think there's the interest there might once have been for it anymore but your comments continue to make my day. They also have a surprising amount of impact on the fic considering that I've had a detailed plan written out for it for about a year and a half now. But new suggestions, comments, theories, questions and criticisms have have shaped where things go and how I've written them more than I'm probably even aware of!


	39. An Odd Customer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an early Christmas present from me to you :)

By the time the next match was over, the tattoo equipment had arrived. This came as a surprise to Sniper, not just because of how quickly it came, but also because he'd forgotten to ask Spy to get it.

Sniper felt like a delighted child on Smissmas-eve when Spy handed him the package. It perked him up after an even more decisive defeat on the battlefield than the day before. Sniper ripped off the brown paper to reveal a large metal briefcase-like container. The clasps made a satisfying clunk as he unlocked it. Nestled inside was everything he could have hoped for. There were two coil tattoo guns: a liner and a shader. Picking one up, it felt light-weight enough for ease of use but solid enough not to fall apart. The grip was nice and the frame simple but elegant. Along with those there were a variety of different bits and pieces he'd need, including a selection of twenty eight different coloured inks, test paper and aftercare lotion. Sniper carefully inspected everything before realising Spy was still standing nearby, awaiting his verdict.

'This is brilliant, Spy. Absolutely brilliant. How much do I owe you?'

'Nothing, nothing at all. Consider it a thank you in advance for my tattoo. If that's enough to cover it, that is.'

'Oh yeah, it is, don't worry,' Sniper said. Spy's was only going to be small and relatively simple, after all. Scout's... not so.

He spent the rest of the evening putting the guns together and taking them apart again, testing them, and practising. It was a long time since he'd done this and there was so much to think about. Using the right parts for the job, making sure the area was clean, not pressing too deep with the needle, wiping away excess ink so he could see what he was doing.... The worst part was that if he went wrong, there was no erasing his mistakes. Sniper was starting to regret not going for something simpler.

Scout had wanted to start the tattoo before the match the next day but Medic warned him that if he went onto the field with a freshly inked tattoo, respawn was going to leave him like that all day.

After a third defeat (though a much closer one than the day before), Scout was the only one showing any signs of enthusiasm. He insisted they start as soon as possible, leaving Sniper just enough time to dump all his belongings in his van before heading for the infirmary. Medic allowed them to use one of the beds and trolley in there as their work station and hovered nearby while Sniper set everything up. Sniper wasn't sure how he felt about having an audience but Medic might be useful if he needed any extra help with anything.

'Urgh, that's wet!' Scout complained once Sniper had managed to get him topless and sitting on the edge of the bed.

'I'm disinfecting the canvas,' Sniper said.

'Dude, that sounds kind of creepy when you put it like that,' Scout complained.

'Just be glad you're so hairless that I don't need to bother shaving the area,' Sniper said, which shut Scout up for a minute. But just a minute.

'What are you doing now?' Scout asked.

'Putting the transfer paper on you. Sit still or it'll come out wonky.' Miraculously, Scout did as he was told.

'I thought there was a celtic bit to the design,' Medic said, peering at the marks left behind once Sniper removed the paper.

'Yeah there's gonna be. There'll be some knots under these feathers here and up the centre bit here and down his spine, that's why the middle's blank for now. Tattooing the spine is much more painful though so I thought I'd start with the feathers because the upper back, shoulders and upper arms aren't as bad.'

'I'm a man, I can take it!' Scout insisted.

'So you'd rather start with needles in your spine?'

'Well, I mean, you've already got the feathery bit transferred, right? Might as well do that first!'

It took just five minutes for Scout to let out his first hiss of pain. 'Man, this kind of starts to kind of...smart after a while, doesn't it?'

'If it's any consolation, tattoo removal hurts even more.'

'Oh.'

'So make sure you sit still so we don't end up with any mistakes we'll both regret.'

'Okay!'

After that Scout kept his fists and jaw clenched and his back straight.

Sniper took his time, knowing it was better to do so than rush it and end up with wobbly lines. Medic helped dispose of the wipes Sniper was using to clear away excess ink but after a while he retired to the other side of the infirmary to get on with some paperwork. Sniper wasn't sure what paperwork was expected of a mercenary and sincerely hoped there wasn't any he should be doing.

After a couple of minutes of further silence broken only by the odd hiss of pain from Scout, Sniper realised one thing he'd got wrong.

'What was that thing you were saying about one of your brothers and the rigged carnival game at dinner?' Scout had been interrupted mid-story by Soldier that evening and no one had been interested enough to return to the topic.

'Oh yeah! So, right, there as this giant thing—like a stuffed animal or whatever— that his girlfriend at the time—they're actually married now. Jeez, what an idiot—and she wanted it so he...'

Scout rambled happily on from there. He still broke away with pained intakes of breath but once he started talking it gave him something else to concentrate on. Sniper nodded to himself in satisfaction and made sure to add in hums of agreement and 'yes' and 'oh?' where appropriate. Scout could be surprisingly easy to get on with when he wasn't trying to show-off.

Both Sniper and Scout were stifling yawns by the time Sniper finished. His fingers were stiff and cramped but as he wiped away the last of the excess ink he found himself proud of the tattoo beneath. He'd made sure not to tell Scout but this was far larger than any tattoo he'd done before.

He lightly rubbed some aftercare ointment onto Scout's back, responding to Scout's accusation of it being 'a homo thing to do' with, 'Do you really want to try and do it yourself?' He taped a gauze dressing supplied by Medic over the tender tattoo and warned Scout not to pick at it or to try sleeping on his back.

'Yeah , yeah, what kind of idiot do you—Oh, right,' Scout said, finding himself picking at the tape without realising it.

 

Scout was quick to judge and quick to act, but he was also quick to forget. By the next evening he was already asking for Sniper to get on and do the next section.

'Not a chance,' Sniper said. Before Scout could complain, he explained, 'You've got to wait for the first part to heal over first. If I try tattooing onto already inflamed skin it could come out all wonky. Plus, that's gonna hurt like a bitch.'

After that Scout didn't seem to mind so much, despite his previous bravado. Until Sniper said, 'Best to leave it a couple of weeks.'

'A couple of weeks?' Scout squawked.

It was good thing Sniper hadn't showed him the coloured inks Spy had got him or he'd probably have asked for enough detail to turn this into a two month-long venture.

Realising he'd been neglecting Spy, Sniper went to seek him out to see if he wanted his tattoo started. But apparently he had plans to go see his 'paramour' on Sunday and didn't want a wrapped-up tattoo on his arm. They settled on Monday instead.

 

The rest of the week went passed slow with loss after loss. Sniper didn't mind as much as the others because he had something to look forward to. This Saturday was it, the first day after his probation period. He could leave the base. He could go into town. As much as they were provided for here and Spy was useful for getting other stuff, there was something Sniper wanted to buy for himself that he wouldn't trust to anyone else. He just hoped they had the right place for the job in town. He was looking forward to going just for a change of scene as well. He'd been cooped up in the base so long that he'd started to feel like it was just a different type of prison to the one he'd been in before.

As much as he was anticipating it, Sniper made sure not to mention anything about it to his teammates. Most of them didn't know he was on contract zero. Any mention of this being the first time he'd had the chance to go into town was sure to cause suspicion.

So on Saturday morning Sniper woke up to his alarm ringing at eight. It wasn't what he would have once counted as early, but with matches at Doublecross lasting until midnight it was rare for him to get to bed any time before two in the morning.

After a quick visit to the base to shower and an even quicker cup of coffee, Sniper set off. His van hadn't had many runs recently and he could tell. This trip into town would be good for the both of them. And the great thing about taking his home with him was he could just sleep in town for free (well, for as much as parking cost) without having to bother going back to the base if he wanted. Then again, he didn't want whoever was in charge of the whole thing to think he'd done runner. Best to go back tonight. But he didn't have to worry about that for hours yet.

The town wasn't hard to find. Beyond the odd hunting cabin and farm it was the only form of civilisation within a two hour drive. For someone who was used to remote parts of Australia it felt like no time at all. The journey was very different though; he'd swapped the orange-baked landscaped of Australia for fir trees and twisting mountain roads.

Whistling happily to himself as he drove past a sign welcoming him to the town, Sniper stopped briefly to fill up his van and then continued on into the centre. He found a car park with bays big enough to leave his van without fear it might get scraped (well, more scraped than it already was.) Still whistling, Sniper made his way through the wide high-street. It was a pleasantly warm late Saturday morning and teenagers with nothing better to do with their weekends off could be found loitering on corners and in outdoor seating at cafes.

Three teenage boys smoking against a wall looked up as Sniper made his way past, their eyes cold. Then he past a group of girls under a shade umbrella who paid him even more attention and giggled amongst each other once he'd passed by. Sniper wondered if he'd got something on his face, but he couldn't have. He'd checked his reflection before he'd left his van. Not because he was vain but because he wanted to make sure he wasn't a total mess.

Sniper's only decent clothes were the ones he wore for work, so he'd ended up just swapping his usual trousers for his least scruffy pair of jeans. The aviators and hat were in place of course, the hat pulled down low over his eyes.

As he passed by another couple of teenage girls who looked up to watch him, a tune popped into his head. How did it go? Something about boys watching girls who watched the boys back and somehow this made the whole world go around. Except this time it was boys watching Sniper, who was watching the boys, and also the girls watch him and vice versa. It was very strange. But if they wanted trouble, they weren't going it find it. This was his first day away from base and if anyone asked his name wasn't Sniper, it was Nath.

Whistling _Music to Watch Girls By_ to himself, Sniper made a beeline for a shop below a weathered old sign with a picture of a paint pallet and brush on it.

Bingo.

 

Susan Johnson had been the owner of the town's only arts and crafts store since she took it over from her ageing father some thirty years ago. The locals, on the whole, were not the most artsy, nor the most crafty of folk so business had always been rather on the steady side. She'd managed to liven business up a bit in the last five years or so by offering classes and crafts sessions. Pottery painting for the kids, knitting for the older ladies and life drawing classes for a wide range of people who varied greatly on whether or not it was young Penny Hanson or Gordon Grady who was modelling that week.

But by-and-by her business was small and quiet, with just the odd children's party to disrupt the cobwebs from the ceiling.

Susan Johnson liked it that way. She knew most people in town by name and if not, she knew their faces. This odd new customer, however-this tall man looming over one of the shelves- was not a familiar face.

'Hello there! Can I help you with anyth...' she said, trailing off uncertainly when he turned to face her. Slashed down one side of his face was a great livid scar that twisted up the corner of his mouth. He stared down at her, expression unreadable behind tinted aviators, below a battered slouch hat.

Susan Johnson's eyes flicked to the patch on his red shirt. On his red shirt.

He was one of _those_ men. Everyone knew about them, but few knew as much as they claimed. All anyone could confirm for sure was that they were based at the old government facility a couple of hours away, known to the locals simply as 'Doublecross.'

Young men with something to prove and their curious girlfriends would drive out there occasionally. They returned, often shell-shocked, with stories of explosions and gore and blasted limbs. Occasionally they didn't return at all. No one ever called the police. Who would believe their stories about glowing red and blue men and invisible figures?

Susan Johnson had seen some of the red and blue men in town on occasion. They tended to stick to places that sold alcohol, not to arts and crafts stores.

Susan Johnson wondered if she was about to die.

'Oh, yes,' the man said distractedly. 'Do you have any smaller brushes than these?' he asked, holding up a couple of fine paintbrushes. Mutely, Susan Johnson pointed to the lowest rack. 'Oh, yes, I see them now,' the man said with a sheepish grin. He stooped down to sort through them and came back up with one he seemed happy with. It looked too small and delicate to be useful to a man with such large, rough hands.

He had an odd accent. It took her a moment to identify it. Australian? He didn't look like the average Australian was supposed to though. She decided not to question it.

'I need to get myself some paints too,' he said.

'What kind?' Susan Johnson asked automatically. She was used to people asking for paint without actually having any clue what they really wanted.

'Hmm,' the man said thoughtfully. 'Well I was thinking of watercolours, unless you've got any gouache paints?'

'We certainly do.'

'Ooh!' the man said, face lighting up. He looked a lot less intimidating now than he did a moment ago.

'I love working with watercolours you see but I also love that extra vibrancy gouache seems to bring to the table. Oh, and the way you can still create nice light washes with it if you add enough water. That's the one thing acrylic paints have always let me down on. I mean, acrylics are great too, but then again so are oils but my work space is limited and not all that well ventilated so oil paints aren't practical. Honestly, I'd love to get myself some watercolours as well as gouache but the gouache is priority...'

He continued to ramble on happily as Susan Johnson led him further into the shop.

'Here,' she said, gesturing to a shelf, 'And we've got individuals over here as well.'

The man picked up the set nearest to him and pulled his aviators down his nose to study it carefully.

'I wouldn't go for those myself,' Susan Johnson admitted quickly.

The man looked up at her. 'Why?' he asked.

For a moment she didn't say anything, too distracted by his odd-coloured eyes to think of an answer. 'Oh, they're fine for students,' she managed. 'But I'd recommend these here to anybody else,' she said, tapping another box. 'There's fewer colours but they're better quality and we've got some individual tubes of the same brand you can use to fill the gaps. They're buy one, get one free at the moment.' They weren't, but even though he was smilingn ow it seemed a good idea to keep this man happy.

'Ah, great!' he said picked up the box and began searching through the individuals, scrutinising each and comparing them to the ones in the box. As he did so he started talking again.

'Haven't done any painting in years! Boy have I missed it. I'm so glad I found this place. I used to have this wonderful set of watercolours, nicest I've ever seen. Wasted on me, really. Not really sure what happened to them after I...never mind. Do you have any sketchbooks? I've run out of space in mine.'

'Yes, just over here.'

He scooped up the paints he wanted and followed her. As with the paints, he took his time studying the sketchbooks. Susan Johnson would have found it unnerving if he hadn't been chattering on happily about what he was looking for in a good sketchbook.

He was an odd man, this one. There was something about his honest enthusiasm that made it hard to dislike him though.

'You know what? I'm really tempted to pick up a couple of canvases too. I love working on canvases.' That was them off over to the canvases then.

'Do you have any air-dry clay? I haven't had chance to use that stuff in a long time. I might get some air-dry clay.' Susan Johnson led him off to that. Usually she would leave people to it when they wanted to have a look around at so many things, but this man seemed happy to have someone to talk to. She was used to that. She'd get young, artistic kids who just wanted someone who'd listen to their ambitions rather than reminding them that becoming a lawyer or doctor would pay much better. And she'd get older folk who were lonely and just wanted someone to talk to. This man was neither but reminded her of both somehow.

He brought everything, plus a set of watercolours and watercolour pencils, some extra brushes and a paint palette to the counter, grinning like a child on his birthday. 'It's a good thing I'm really good at pool!' He said, and at Susan Johnson's blank look, explained, 'Got the money for all this from playing snooker and pool against my t— against my mates.'

Well, at least he hadn't said, 'from shooting people and taking the money out of their wallets,' Susan Johson thought. Maybe whatever was going on in that old government site wasn't as bad as everybody said it was.

By the time he left, Susan Johnson had invited him to the life drawing class and knitting sessions. He seemed interested in the life drawing and didn't even ask if the model was a woman or not, which she took as the sign of a true artist. It came as a relief though that he had to turn down the knitting classes due to work. Some of the old ladies who attended probably wouldn't have survived the shock of seeing him there.

As Susan Johnson started straightening up the paintbrushes, she wondered what her husband was going to say about her odd encounter with one of those red men today.

 

Whistling cheerfully to himself, Sniper made his way back down the high-street. He stopped to buy himself some lunch from a baker (completely missing the terrified looks the young woman behind the counter gave him) and took everything back to his van. As he ate, he doodled in the back of one of his new sketchbooks with the new watercolour pencils. Idea after idea for new projects fired off in his brain. Sniper couldn't decide which he wanted to get started with first. It was tempting to just stay in his van and paint for the rest of the day, but there was something Sniper had to do. Something important.

Reluctantly, he put the pencils away and left his van. He popped into a bank he'd passed earlier, once again missing the worried look the clerk gave him, and came back out with a heavy bag of change. He was going to need it. As Sniper made his way over to a public payphone, his footsteps slowed and his heartbeat sped up. Anxiety and dread twisted in his gut. But he had to do this.

He picked up the phone and started slotting change into the machine. As he waited to be transferred overseas he took hold of the phone in both hands. They were shaking too much for him to be able to hold it steady with one.

_Ring ring._

Pick up.

_Ring ring._

Please pick up.

_Ring ring._

Or don't, then Sniper could put this off another day.

 _Ring r_ — **'** Henrietta Mundy speaking, who is it? **'**

Sniper's throat tightened. 'M—mum?'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks once again to the boyfriend for editing and naming this, as well as his continued support with my fan fiction writing endeavours.


	40. With a Whimper, With a Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is hereby twinned with chapter 32 of Chaosandmayhem's Machines Don't Bleed as this is the only way to stop her lawyers from doing me for fan fiction chapter title copyright infringement. It's a very serious crime, you know.
> 
> Art by [Coffeezombiess/BearDrool](http://coffeezombiess.tumblr.com/post/148056014294/did-this-lovely-of-tf2-sniper-and-commissioners)  
> Commissioned this one all the way back in July and only just got to the point where I can actually use it!

 

 

_Ring ring._

_Pick up._

_Ring ring._

_Please pick up._

_Ring ring._

_Or don't, then Sniper could put this off another day._

_Ring r— **'** Henrietta Mundy speaking, who is it? **'**_

_Sniper's throat tightened. 'M—mum?'_

 

There was a pause. A moment of static and silence. Then, 'Nat?'

'Yes. It's me,' Sniper said, trying not to choke on the words. 'It's me, I'm fine. I'm not dead, Mum, I'm fine.' There was a hiccuping sob on the other end of the phone. Sniper swallowed against a lump in his throat.

'I'm sorry, Mum. I'm so sorry.' Sniper fidgeted as he waited for an answer, his legs shaking.

'Nat,' Henrietta Mundy said again, her voice quavering. 'Oh God, Nat. My boy—' She broke off with another sob. 'They told us you were dead. They sent us an official letter. They told us where they'd buried you, over in America. We visited. We saw the headstone.' She was getting harder and harder to understand, sentences dissolving under the weight of her tears.

Sniper closed his eyes tight and forced himself to take a few steadying breaths. Henrietta Mundy was a tough woman; Sniper hadn't seen her cry since her younger brother died when he was twelve. It was just as distressing and disorientating now as it had been then. 'Mum,' Sniper said soothingly, 'it's okay, Mum. It's not true, none of it's true. I'm alive and well and—'

'WHO IS THIS?' A voices thundered down the line.

Sniper flinched away, almost dropping the phone. He'd heard his father shout many many times before, but this was different. This was the voice he'd used when he'd caught thieves breaking into the barn. This was the voice he'd used when he'd found a couple of teenagers torturing a dying wallaby. He'd never directed it Sniper's way before and it momently stunned him into silence.

'Who are you? How dare you call at this hour? How dare you make my wife cry!'

Of course, time zone differences. It had to be in the early hours of the morning in Australia.

Distantly, Sniper heard his mother trying to speak. 'It's Nat, George. It's our little boy.'

'What?' The anger drained out of his voice, leaving behind lost bewilderment. 'No, it can't be. He's dead, Henny, he's gone.'

'He's not, it's him! It's our Nat!'

'Dad?'

Once again, static reigned.

'Nathaniel?'

'It's me, Dad. it— it's really me. I promise.'

'How?' his father said, hope and disbelief etched into that one syllable. 'How can you be alive? They told us—we thought you were dead, Nathaniel. They sent us this official letter...'

'I knew it wasn't right!' Henrietta Mundy added, closer to the phone now. They seemed to be holding it between them. 'And you couldn't just change an imprisonment sentence to a death sentence like that—'

'We phoned up the embassy! Gave them a right piece of my mind!'

'They said they couldn't find any information about you on any records. It was like you never existed.'

'Made it sound like you were a bloody illegal immigrant!'

'And then they changed their story and told us you'd died of a heart attack—'

'And then they said your papers had been mislaid!'

'But there was a grave—'

'Took weeks to get that out of them!'

'We visited. They'd spelt your name wrong. For a while we hoped there'd been some kind of mistake...'

'But then they sent us through more papers, more information. None of it added up. They even tried telling us it was suicide at one point.'

'We tried everything we could. Even contacted the newspapers. But everything led to dead end after dead end after dead end and we—we gave up. I'm so sorry, Nat. I should have known. I should never have given up on you.'

'Mum...' Sniper said. She'd descended into tears again on the other side of the phone. The lump in his throat was back. He rubbed a hand against his prickling eyes. 'Mum, you couldn't have known. No one did.'

'Where are you, Nathaniel?'

'I'm... I'm in America.' He didn't think it safe to be any more specific.

'What happened, Nat? Why haven't you called before now?' She sounded desperate, as if every word she could get out of him was another reason to believe he was real.

'I couldn't, I'm sorry. This is the first time I've had the chance to contact you. And I, well... I'm not sure how to explain it really. Honestly, I'm not sure how much of it I _can_ explain. I'm working on a team of sorts.'

'For the government?' George Mundy interjected.

'Not quite,' Sniper said. He'd always been bad at lying to his parents. 'But something like that.'

'Is it dangerous?' his mother asked, voice hoarse.

Sniper hesitated. There wasn't a simple answer to that. 'I'm fine,' he said. 'I'm not going to claim this is the easiest job I've ever had but it's not going to be the end of me.' He decided not to mention anything about the facial scarring. It would just upset her.

'Can we visit you?'

'No! I mean, not where I work. Not here even, it's too close.' Spy had said the BLU wouldn't bother with his family because they were out of his reach. Sniper couldn't bear the thought of putting his parents in danger, even if it was the only way he could see them.

'Can you come to us?'

'I can't. I'm sorry.'

'Well, why not?' his father snapped. 'Your mother's worried sick about you! We haven't seen you in years. We thought you were gone. Our only son, gone.'

Sniper pinched the bridge of his nose over his glasses and took a deep breath. 'I want to come home. I want to come home more than anything else in the world. I want to help herd the sheep and collect the eggs and mend the fences and ride the horses and get in the way as I always do when mum makes apple crumble.' On the other side of the phone there was a breathy little laugh, a sound still dangerously close to a sob. 'I want to come home and see both of you again. I want to see the animals. I want to see the house. I want to see my country again. But I can't. I have a contract and I can't break it. Legally, I'm dead. I don't exist. I don't have a passport or any ID or a bank account. I honestly... I don't really understand what happened with the death penalty thing, I really don't. It just came out of nowhere and I was scared. Damn scared. And then I was given an out. A way to live. And... well, I can't talk about it really. But I get to work with some really great guys! I'm on this international team of people from all over the world!'

'Have you been making lots of friends, Nat?' his mother asked.

'Mum!' Sniper said, and then he started to laugh. Henrietta and George Mundy did too. It was a strained, broken sound from all three of them but they needed it.

'I guess... I guess I kind of have,' Sniper admitted once he'd stopped laughing. 'You know what I'm like though, never been really sure if someone were really my mate or just messing with me or just putting up with me 'cos they needed to.'

'Oh, Nat, you're such a lovely young man, I'm sure they're real friends!'

Sniper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now despite himself.

'There's eight guys I work with. The one I probably get on with best is this English bloke who's always up for a drink and a laugh. He's got some great stories to tell. Never sure if any of them are true to be honest, but it almost doesn't matter.

'And there's this kid, well, I say kid, he's in his twenties, and he's always got stories to tell as well 'cept no one ever wants to listen. God, that kid can go on but as long as you let him he's happy and not too much of a bother. He's used to being a part of a big family so I think he just acts out for attention really.

'And then there's this really loud guy. Most American fella you're ever gonna meet. Pretty sure if you cut him he'd bleed red, white and blue, probably with stars in there as well. He's not a bad type though.

'And there's this third American guy—the kid was American too— and he's much more quiet. Real clever type, he is. Kind of like an inventor. Always tinkering with stuff and inventing things.

'There's this other... guy who helps him out. Not actually sure where he comes from. He's got, uh, a very heavy accent and a bit of a speech impediment but he's very good at his job. Very thorough. And he always seems so happy doing it.

'Same with this other Russian fella. _Big_ Russian fella. Looks like he's the all-muscle-no-brain type but turns out he's really into his literature and his English has come on so much since he joined the team. He joined at the same time as me so we're kind of still the new guys I guess but nobody really treats us like that anymore.

'Then there's S— Antoine, this French bloke. I think you'd like him, mum. He's always keeping an eye out for the rest of us even though we don't need it. And he's always running around fussing over stuff like a mother hen who's been given ducklings to raise.

'And then there's a Dutch man as well. I think you'd both like him. He's an in-house doctor of sorts. Keeps us all in line and does his best to keep us out of trouble. Takes his job very seriously but he's a good bloke. Real reliable. They all are actually.'

'They sound... interesting,' his mother said.

'Oh, they are!' Sniper assured her enthusiastically.

'Any nice ladies about?' she asked.

And like that, Sniper's smile faltered. He was sure that in that instant, their thoughts would have gone to Michelle, just as his had. Sniper could almost hear the sound of the yawning chasm opening back up between him and his parents. 'Uh, no. Everyone on the team's a guy and I... I don't get out much.'

A moment of awkward silence followed.

George Mundy cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Well... well we're just happy to hear you're safe. I know we haven't—things haven't—but you're alive. You're alive, and knowing that means... a lot to us. To both of us.'

'Thanks, Dad. And I'm sorry. Sorry for everything. I really am.'

'Yeah, me too. If only— You know what, let's not start anything.'

That came as a relief to Sniper. His old man was a lot like the little old terrier they used to keep for ratting; once he sunk his teeth into something, he didn't usually let go.

'I think I'd better go I'm afraid,' Sniper said. 'Pushed a _lot_ of change into this machine but I think I'm about to run out of time.'

'But we've only got hold of you!'

'I know, Mum, I know. I'll ring again as soon... well as soon as I can afford to. Damn, I was right, it's beeping at me, I've got to go!'

'Take care, kid,' George Mundy said.

'We love you, Nat, always remember tha—'

The phone cut out.

Sniper slowly put it back, staring at the scuffed metal of the payphone without seeing it. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted. It had only been one little phone call and yet he felt that he'd just spent all day running marathons and defusing bombs.

It was over though. He'd done it. And apart from his mum crying, it had gone far better than he'd expected. Despite how tired he was, Sniper felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as he headed back towards his van.

They knew he was alive. They knew. And they still cared. And they'd fought so hard to find out what had happened to him. And they'd taken the time to fly over to visit what they thought was his grave. They cared. Despite... despite all he'd done. They cared.

 

Sniper had intended to spend the rest of the afternoon trying out his new art supplies but ended up falling asleep. He awoke feeling muddled and confused about where he was, but refreshed. They knew. They knew he was alive. For a brief time at least, everything was right in the world.

Sniper headed out to a cheap-looking diner once he got hungry, carefully pawing through his wallet to make sure he had enough money left. The food wasn't good but as with most American servings, there was plenty of it.

Happy and full and triple checking his wallet, Sniper wandered off towards a pub a little further down the road. He'd been in enough English pubs before to spot a poor imitation, but as far as poor imitations went, this place wasn't _that_ bad. The dark wooden beams might have been painted on but the horse brass looked reasonably authentic and the atmosphere was nice enough.

Digging through his wallet, Sniper was able to scrape together just enough to pay for a bottle of beer. Next time he came into town he'd make sure he had plenty of money so he could buy enough cans of beer to pay Demoman back for all the free drinks over the last three months. Sniper was not a fan of being a freeloader.

Whatever beer he got would have to be better quality than his current drink, Sniper decided with a grimace.

He was just about to put down his drink when a flash of blue caught his eye.

Growing up, blue had always been his favourite colour. It was the colour of the sea, of the sky, of his first girlfriend's eyes and the walls in his childhood bedroom. It was a good colour. A safe colour. Or at least, it had been until recently. He'd been doing double-takes on anybody wearing jeans or a blue top all day but this time it was different.

This time it was the BLU Sniper.

Fear slammed into Sniper as the BLU sat down on the bar stool next to him. He tried to keep it off his face, giving the enemy merc a cold look instead.

He also tried not to stare at the BLU's scars, not now that he knew what they meant. It hadn't been until he'd spotted the other sniper down his scope after his talk with Spy that he'd realised. Two scars. Two pale, crisscrossing scars.

'I'm gonna guess,' the BLU Sniper said, arms resting against the bar behind him, looking out over the rest of the pub instead of Sniper, 'that none of your teammates thought to warn you.'

'What?' Sniper said, nerves clawing at his belly. What did he mean? What was he talking about? Why was he here?

'Whenever my team wins five days in a row we come into town to celebrate at the weekend. It's the only time we all come out together as a team.' He turned to face Sniper. 'All of us. Now, you seem to be drinking alone and even if you aren't, I fancy you're gonna be outnumbered. And when my team comes into town after a winning streak, things tend to get... boisterous. Those guys over there—' he pointed across the room and Sniper turned to find the BLU Scout and Engineer watching him from a table near the door. The Scout was bouncing his legs and twisting the hem of his tee-shirt as he stared at Sniper, clearly full of nervous energy, though his expression was hard to read. The Engineer was frowning. It might have been a worried look but with the goggles over his eyes, Sniper couldn't say for sure.

'Those guys will leave you alone, 'cos I've told them to,' the BLU said. 'However, the rest of my team is going to be here soon and if you're still here when they arrive... I'm afraid things might get nasty. And as much is it's none of my business to tell you where you should or shouldn't be, I don't personally recommend hanging around.'

Sniper put his drink down and stood up. He gave the other Sniper a sharp nod.

Sniper turned to leave, flicking a glance at the two BLUs at the table. Like the Sniper had promised, neither of them did anything to stop him from reaching the door. Sniper's heart was beating hard in his chest, skin prickling. He felt as though he'd accidentally wandered into a place he wasn't allowed to be in and that everyone else in the room knew it.

He left the pub in a hurry, eager to get to his van. Today had made for a pleasant change but he'd had enough now. Time to go back to the base. Time to go home.

Sniper got as far as the second row of cars in the carpark before he stopped dead. A car door slammed shut in front of him. The BLU Soldier glanced at him and away and then did a double-take. The Medic bumped into him and looked up with a scowl, only for his eyes to shift past the Soldier and widen. The Heavy pulled himself out of the cramped car and looked up to see what was causing the blockage.

Sniper didn't move, frozen by shock and indecision. His van was just a couple of spaces behind the BLUs. There was no way he could get past them safely. Even if he went the long way around they could just try and block them off.

That van was his only way out of town. But that van also contained everything of value to him. None of them had any reason to know it was his vehicle but if he tried to get to it, they'd find out. He didn't want to know what might happen then.

The BLU Pyro and Demoman climbed out the car. Like their other teammates, their eyes settled on Sniper, though it was hard to tell for sure with the Pyro.

Sniper's heart thudded in his chest. He stepped backwards. That was all it took. 'Get 'im!' the Demoman hollered, charging forward.

And just like that, the entire pack was after him. Sniper turned on his heels and ran. He ran back towards the high street, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the presence of other people would put them off.

It was evening though, and all the shops along the high street were closed, the sleepy town centre deserted.

Footsteps pounded along behind him, urging him on. He couldn't let them catch up, he couldn't.

A hand grabbed hold of his shirt. With a startled snarl, Sniper pulled free. He glanced over his shoulder to see the BLU Medic right behind him, grinning manically at the thrill of the chase. Damn, that man was fast. Faster than Sniper.

He dived down a side alley to try and get away, hoping it would open out onto another road that'd allow him to double-back. Maybe if it was just him and the Medic he could fight off the BLU long enough to be able to escape in his van.

Sniper was halfway down the alleyway between a sports shop and a discount bookstore when the Medic tackled him. They both went flying, the fall knocking the wind out of Sniper's lungs. His hat tumbled off his head, the palms of his hands scraped bloody by the rough asphalt, his glasses askew.

Adrenaline urged him on. Sniper went to pull himself to his feet, only for Medic to drag him back down by his shirt. Sniper gritted his teeth and lashed out a foot. It struck Medic in the stomach. He swore but didn't let go.

'Fuck off! Sniper spat, trying to fight his way free. Other footsteps were rapidly approaching. He had to get away. 'Fuck off!' he said, desperation edging into his voice.

'He's here! Medic's got him!' The BLU Soldier shouted.

Sniper caught the Medic's arm with another kick and wriggled free. Before he'd managed three faltering steps, someone shoved him violently from behind, sending him sprawling forward.

Sniper pulled himself onto his hands and knees only for a foot to slam into his ribs. He collapsed onto his side with a hoarse gasp. The BLU's surrounded him, out of breath but triumphant.

'What the hell did you think you were doing here, you skinny little bastard?' the Demoman asked with a smirk, vindictive joy smouldering in his one good eye.

'Commie punk!' the Soldier cried, pulling back his right leg. Sniper tried to scrabble out of the way, teeth bared in defiance. The steel-toed boot glanced off his ribs. The Demoman joined in and Sniper let out a startled cry as something went _crack._

He put out a hand to steady himself, only for the Pyro to stamp on it. He snarled, lashing out with his free hand, arm bouncing uselessly off a leg.

'Show him what we do to REDs!' the Medic crowed, clapping his hands together and bouncing on his heels like an excited child as he egged them on. 'Come on, show him what we do to REDs! Beat him! Kick him! Punch him!'

The Heavy hovered a little way behind Medic, watching proceedings but not joining in.

'Get the fuck off me!' Sniper shouted, attempting to pull himself up again. A foot connected with his head, cracking his teeth together and sending dazed pain reverberating through his skull. Static burst in front of his eyes, the world wavering. It came back into focus only for another boot to come flying towards him.

His aviators cracked. Blood ran from his nose. Another foot slammed into his side.

And another.

And another.

The blows rained down on him from all sides. There was no escape.

Desperately, Sniper curled himself up into a ball on his side, arms over his head to shield it. He gasped and squirmed as boots and fists thudded into his unprotected ribs and legs, blows glancing off his arms hard enough to rattle his teeth.

Every punch or kick sent pain billowing through his body, each too close to the last to give him time to recover.

It was getting hard to breathe, hard to think. Low moans of pain escaped him, unchecked and unnoticed. Sniper's defiance had been entirely snuffed out.

A particularly forceful kick knocked him onto his back, limbs splayed out limply.

'He dead?' the Soldier asked with an experimental nudge to Sniper's legs.

'Durnpth thnpth tho,' the Pyro said hopefully.

'Nah, listen, he's breathing.'

A hoarse, rattling sound came from the man on the ground, his bruised and scraped chest moving up and down unevenly. Listening closely enough, the BLUs could hear him groan in pain with each breath as his cracked and broken ribs protested.

'Oh, is that it?' the Medic asked petulantly. He hunkered down next to the Sniper. 'Is that all the big bad RED has to offer, hmm?'

When there was no reply he reached out and dug his fingers into Sniper's side.

With a hitching gasp, Sniper's eyes flew open, his back arching. He collapsed back down again, too exhausted to move and shook his head in weak protest.

It hurt so much. He wanted to die. He just wanted to die. How could he be in so much pain and still be alive?

The Medic peered down at him like he was some odd little insect.

'Interesting... I wonder...' He grabbed hold of Sniper's jaw, tilting his head towards the light that spilt into the alleyway from the street outside.

'Oh, they are!'

'What you messing about at, doc? Stamp on his head a couple of times, that'd finish him off.'

'No,' Medic snapped. 'Look at his eyes!' He dragged Sniper's face towards the Demoman. 'They're two different colours!'

'Uh, yeah, because one's all bloodshot. Stop staring at the asshole's eyes and let us have him.'

'No, no. Heavy, stand him up,' the Medic ordered.

The Heavy stepped forward obediently. The Heavy scooped Sniper up off the ground as easily as as if he were a child. Sniper hissed in pain, his vision blurring and distorting. He couldn't support himself. Not even his head. He stayed slumped like a rag doll, the Heavy the only thing stopping him from collapsing back down to the ground.

'Tilt his head this way,' the Medic said. The whole world tipped to the side, strong hands grasping at his jaw.

The Medic peered up at him. Sniper blinked listlessly, trying to remember where he was and what was going on. It hurt. Everything hurt.

'Yes! He does have complete heterochromia! What fascinating eyes. I want them.'

'You—you what?' the Demoman asked.

'His eyes. I want them,' the Medic replied blandly. 'Heavy, keep hold of the RED and make sure none of the others do anymore harm to him. I don't want him respawning sooner than can be helped.'

'Now—now you just wait a minute!' the Demoman stammered. 'You can't just go taking a bloke's eyes out, that's—that's just wrong, that is.'

'And beating him to death isn't? That's what you were planning to do with him, wasn't it?'

'Yeah, but that's not the same! He's a RED!'

'And he has RED eyes, so to speak. What's wrong with me doing a little damage to this one part of him when you're happy to kick and punch the rest?'

'It's not the same. It's not. You have to draw a line somewhere. You can't just pluck out his eyeballs.'

'I think we may have hit a sensitive spot here, with you and eyeballs.'

'He's a prisoner of war, doc,' the Soldier said. 'You can kick the shit out of P-O-Vs but you can't mutilate them, it's in the Jehovah Convention.'

'That's not—that's really not...' the Demoman started.

'The RED's a Sniper. Sniper's need their eyes,' the Heavy rumbled.

Medic snorted. 'We all need our eyes. It'll be fine. He'll respawn on Monday morning and be good as... Well, he'll be all right. Probably. Now, hold him still, Heavy. Demoman, Soldier, if you don't want to be here for this, I suggest you both leave. The other four will probably have drinks waiting for you already.'

'Yeah.' The Demoman sighed. 'I want it goin' on the record though that I don't like this.'

The Soldier grunted in affirmation.

The two of them left the alleyway. The Demoman glanced back at the limp, broken man held up by the Heavy and for a second, guilt wormed at his booze-soaked heart. The anger at seeing a RED in their town, on their night. The thrill of the chase. The rush of victory. The feral joy at the capture... Was it...was it really—

No, it was just a RED. It didn't matter. The Demoman turned away again, eager to drown his guilt in the same way he had done all these years: with cheap alcohol.

 

'I'm going to grab a jar and a scalpel from the car. Keep hold of him and don't let Pyro set fire to him.'

'Buh Murdipth!' the Pyro cried.

'No burning.'

The Pyro muttered angrily under their breath, their mumbles even harder to understand than normal.

Once the Medic had hurried off, coattails flapping behind him, the Heavy lowered Sniper back onto the ground. One hand drifted to Sniper's throat. Sniper stared up at him blearily, showing no signs of recognising where he was or what was going on. The Heavy's hand tightened.

'Wuh yuh dwin?' Pyro asked, accusation clear in their voice even if their words were not.

'Nothing,' the Heavy said, retracting his hand. 'Just making sure the RED's still breathing.'

For a few minutes, there was no sound but Sniper's wheezing and occasional low groans of pain. He barely even moved, let alone tried to escape.

Hasty footsteps announced the Medic's return. 'Got them!' he called cheerfully, holding up a jar of formaldehyde in one hand and a scalpel in the other. 'Is the RED still alive?'

The Heavy looked back down at the man he was kneeling beside, Sniper's chest rising and falling erratically. 'Yes,' he said, almost regretfully. 'He is.'

'Good. Now, pull him up into a sitting position and hold him tight. This is going to make him wriggle and I _hate_ it when they wriggle.'

The Heavy hesitated.

'Come on,' the Medic said irritably. 'I haven't got all day! Every moment you waste is a moment lost. I'm not going to have very long to look over his eyes as it is.'

Slowly, the Heavy did as he was told, pulling Sniper up against himself and wrapping one hand around Sniper's chest, the other under his jaw. Sniper squirmed weakly in his arms, muttering, 'No, no...'

'To okrutne nawet jak na ciebie...doktorze,' the Heavy muttered

Medic wrinkled his nose. 'Don't talk to to me in that ugly language of yours,' he snapped. 'You know I can't understand a damn word you're saying.'

Sniper gave a cry of pain as the Heavy started in shock, jostling him. The Heavy stared at his Medic, a hurt that was never seen on his face during battle no matter how bad the wound, clear in his eyes. Then it was gone. A blank, emotionless mask replaced it.

'Tak. Wiem,' he said.

The Medic pulled a face but ignored the Heavy. 'Hold him steady. I said: steady!'

'No, no, no,' Sniper said. He tried to twist himself free as the Medic grabbed hold of his jaw and raised the scalpel.

'Stay still and this will only hurt for a moment,' the Medic said. Off to one side, the Pyro snickered through their gas mask.

'Nonono, no. Don't. Please. Don't.' Sniper's words were slurred and vague, like someone sleep talking during a nightmare. 'Don't.' He scrabbled against the arm holding him tight, his movement feeble and uncoordinated.

'Steady now,' Medic said, crouching down next to Sniper to get a better angle. The scalpel glinted in his hand.

'Don't. Don't. Please.'

'Shhh, I need to concentrate.'

Sniper moaned in fear, trying to shake his head.

'No! Nononono.'

'He's going to start thrashing in a second,' the Medic warned the Heavy. 'Watch out for that.

He missed the way the Heavy's gaze wasn't on him, but on the alleyway entrance behind him. He missed the Heavy's small nod.

_**BANG** _

Medic flinched and swore as Sniper's head snapped back and blood and gore peppered him. The Heavy let out a grunt of pain at the bullet lodged in his chest but the Medic ignored him. 'What the—' he snarled.

The Medic spun around to find the BLU Spy standing over him, pistol raised and eyes burning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish translations: 'This is cruel even for you, doctor,' and, 'Yes, I know.'
> 
> According to wikipedia (the world's most reliable source) the death sentence in America was apparently temporarily suspended across all states just at the point in time when I needed it for this story. Which isn't very helpful. So if that is true I'm ignoring it because the TF2 universe is a 'go big or go home' version of ours and I can't imagine its America giving up the right to electrocute people to death.
> 
> This chapter's thanks has to go to not only the boyfriend for proofreading but also Nroro for providing me with the BLU Heavy's Polish and Chaosndmayhem for reading the whole thing over for me.  
> And on a final note from my translator: 'jestem ziemniakiem!'


	41. Checkmate

  
  


_**BANG** _

_Medic flinched and swore as Sniper's head snapped back and blood and gore peppered him. The Heavy let out a grunt of pain at the bullet lodged in his chest but the Medic ignored him. 'What the—' he snarled._

_The Medic spun around to find the BLU Spy standing over him, pistol raised and eyes burning._

 

The Medic stood up and flung his scalpel aside in rage. It bounced off the tarmac with an ineffective little _tink._ 'Why the hell did you do that?' he snapped.

The Spy raised his chin defiantly. 'Someone had to put the Sniper out of his misery.'

The Medic's eyes narrowed. 'And that person just had to be you, didn't it? You couldn't stand the thought of anyone but yourself killing your precious little plaything.'

The Spy sneered, but his eyes gave that the Medic had hit too close to home.

'Life for a life, eye for an eye,' the Medic said, a cruel smile spreading across his face. 'I can't have the RED's so I'll have yours instead. Heavy, get him.'

'No, Doctor.'

'Get him!' the Medic snapped, stamping his foot like a petulant child.

'I've been shot. I need to go get something for it.'

The Medic turned around, his attention momentarily diverted. ''Go get something for it'?' he scoffed, 'You'll do no such thing. You need my help.'

'Yes, Doctor,' the Heavy said, nodding pointedly.

'Come on then,' the Medic said with a huff. 'Back to the—asshole!' He'd looked up to find he alleyway entrance was empty. The Spy must have slipped away while he was distracted.

'No, I don't think I will,' the Heavy muttered, but the Medic didn't hear him. The Medic was too busy glaring at the spot where the Spy had been to pay his Heavy any attention. They left together, the Medic grumbling under his breath. The Heavy paused for a moment, looking back at the crumpled body he'd left behind with a troubled frown, and then turned away.

 

The Spy uncloaked as soon as the Medic and Heavy were out of sight. The Pyro had already left, wandering off as soon as the Sniper had been shot and the fun had ended.

The Spy stared at the body on the ground Night was drawing in now. The Sniper's body was just a crooked muddle of shadows on darker shadows, injuries bleeding together in the poor light.

The Medic had been both wrong and right with his accusations.

The Spy had spent the last three months ignoring and denying his feelings, but here at last they had caught up at him and were clamouring for his attention.

The thought of anyone else hurting the Sniper, anyone else killing him, made distorted, ugly emotions twist in the Spy's chest. He'd seen it before of course, on the battlefield. Seen BLU Sniper headshot him. Seen the Soldier blow him up. Seen the Pyro set fire to him. The Spy had always stamped down on any reaction that dared show itself, but lately that had been becoming harder and harder and now there was no denying it.

The Spy's hands curled into fists at his sides.

That Sniper was his. _His._

And seeing him like this... Seeing this broken thing on the ground begging for mercy, begging the Medic to stop...

It _hurt._

It reached deep into the Spy's chest, cracked open his ribs and ripped out his shrivelled heart.

Respawn reclaimed the Sniper's body.

Relief flooded through the Spy. He'd been worried for a minute there. Worried it wouldn't work. But it was fine. His Sniper was fine. Except how could he be, after what they'd done to him?

The Spy had left his Sniper bloody and bruised and dying at his feet many times before but this was different. This was so much worse, and not just because it hadn't been him to do it. The Sniper would be trapped in respawn all weekend. Who knew what damage might set in permanently?

A pained expression crossed the Spy's face as the thought occurred to him. He didn't want that, not for his Sniper. No, what he wanted was... what he wanted...

He wanted to be there when the Sniper woke up. Wanted to be there for _his_ Sniper.

The Spy's expression deepened into a grimace. No. Where had that ridiculous, sappy thought come from? It didn't belong here.

The Spy turned away from the spot where the Sniper had been and marched back towards his car. He'd only just arrived. Not even had enough time to get through a single glass of wine before the Demoman and Soldier had stumbled in, bravado mixing with uncertainty as they recounted what had just happened. And what had been about to happen.

The Spy had ran. Ran all the way to the alleyway where the Demoman said he'd left the RED. There was no hiding that from the rest of the team. They'd work out there was some sort of...weakness to be exposed here. They'd use it against him. Or at least, if the Spy had been them, he would.

The Medic though... The Spy was going to have to hurry up and get those incriminating photographs at last. He might be needing them soon.

 

 

'Yo, Spy, you seen Snipes around at all?'

'Oh, it's 'Snipes' now is it?'

'Hey, I—lay the fuck off, all right!'

Spy raised his hands in mock surrender, the effect completely ruined by his grin.

'Just wanna know if you've seen the guy, that's all. What about you, hard-hat?'

Engineer looked up from the chess game between him and Spy. 'Nope.' He turned back to the game and moved one of his knights forward. 'Checkmate.'

'Merde,' Spy muttered, glancing back at the chess board. 'I don't believe I've seen him at all today either. Have you checked his van?'

'Well, that's the thing, right. It's not there. I've looked all over and it's just gone.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'Never seen that van disappear before,' Engineer said, narrowing his eyes. For once he wasn't wearing his goggles, making his suspicious expression much easier to read than normal. 'Think he's done a runner?'

'No,' Spy said carefully.

'Oh yeah, because he's—'

'Not the type to do so,' Spy finished, interrupting before Scout could give away Sniper's contract. It was dangerous enough to try and break one of the normal contracts, let alone this particular one. Not when it left you with no identity, friends, family or money. Not when it left you versus Mann Co. and the world.

'Well if you say so,' Engineer said with a doubtful shake of his head.

'Yeah!' Scout argued. 'He's probably just gone...somewhere. Maybe into town.'

'Nah, can't have done.'

'Why not?'

'Cos the BLUs won five days straight. Even that fella's got to know better than to go wandering into town the Saturday after that.'

'Unless...' Spy said, a sensation of deep foreboding taking hold. 'He doesn't know...'

'Huh. Well, must admit I don't think I ever told him.'

Scout shook his head, biting his lip.

'And neither did I,' Spy said. The thought had crossed his mind a couple of times, but never when he was around the Sniper. After a while he'd forgotten about it, thinking Contract Zero would keep Sniper out of trouble if one of their seven other teammates hadn't warned him already. 'Maybe we should go have a little look at respawn, just to check.'

'Yeah,' Scout said, fidgeting from one foot to the other. 'Maybe we should.'

'Oh come off it, fellas. He's only been gone a day. If you don't think he's run off, what makes you think he's gone and got himself killed instead?'

'No reason really, but all the same...' Spy said, standing up.

Engineer sighed and rolled his eyes as he stood up too. 'Got nothing better to do so I might as well come with you.' It probably had more to do with suspicion than boredom though. It was well known that Engineer didn't like people going into the respawn room without him, though what he thought they might do in there, no one was sure.

'Why were you looking for the Sniper anyway?' Engineer asked. 'He seems like the kind of guy who likes his own space. He's probably skinning cats or pissing on trees or making his own leather or whatever it is those loner-types do.'

'Nah man, he likes cats,' Scout replied. 'I've seen Slut Cat hanging around outside his van lots of times and she's still got all her skin. I just wanted him 'cos I've found these awesome coloured ink things in that container full of tattoo-y shit he left in the infirmary and I wanna know if he can use any of them on my tat 'cos imagine how cool that would look!'

'Hmm,' Spy said in reply, suspecting that Sniper hadn't meant for Scout to find them and that if he said yes, it might be another couple of months before he got his stag head tattoo.

They entered the respawn room.

'Oh.'

'Ah.'

'Oh come on, man!'

'Well looks like I was wrong. Looks like the fella _has_ gone and got himself killed after all.'

Spy's shoulders slumped as he looked at the red light above Sniper's respawn unit. 'Is there anyway of getting him out of the system sooner than normal?'

'Nah. Used to be able to override the weekend commands but the higher-ups put a stop to it when they noticed. He's trapped in there until an hour before Monday's match and there's nothing I can do about it.'

'Shit, now I can't ask him about the inks until Monday! Well done Snipes, going and getting yourself killed like a 'fricken moron. I mean, who does that? It's a waste of your whole weekend!'

Spy raised his eyebrows as he lit himself a cigarette. He personally had never died off the battlefield. The Scout however...

'Engineer, can we have a full death report?'

'What for? Dead's dead, isn't it? The Sniper can tell us what got him on Monday, if he's not too embarrassed to talk about it, that is.'

'All the same, I'm curious.'

'Scout, you remember the codes, right?'

'Pth, yeah, course I do!' Scout had never had the longest of attention spans. However, few people gave him credit for his excellent memory and bull-headed determination once he'd set his eyes on a goal. Months ago he'd decided he wanted to find out more about that 'typey codey shit' he'd seen Engineer doing. Engineer had shown him how to do it for two reasons. One, there was little damage he could actually do from this end of things by just fiddling with the computer that tracked respawn information, and two, he'd thought the Scout would grow bored after a couple of minutes and forget about it. But he hadn't. And it had also proved to be very annoying. If Scout thought anyone had performed particularly badly out on the field but wouldn't show him their report card, he now knew how to go print another to show everyone.

This time however, it saved Engineer the effort of doing it himself.

'Let's see, full death report, full death report...' Scout muttered to himself as he started typing.

'Don't know what's with you lot and coddling that guy so much,' Engineer muttered under his breath as he turned back to Sniper's respawn unit.

'Pardon?'

'Oh come on, it's impossible to miss. You and the doc and even sometimes Heavy all seem to go out of your way to fuss over him. Demo's always hanging around with him too when he's not off hiding in his van. He's a trained merc like the rest of us, 'least I sure do hope so. He doesn't need a babysitter.'

Spy frowned around his cigarette. Sniper himself had said something similar. Was he really being so overbearing and obvious?

Over at the computer terminal Scout gave a victory cry. The machine whirred into action, making a _tick-tick-tick_ sound as it worked to print out the full death report.

'Besides, guy's been here for what, four months?' Engineer said.

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Three.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Three months then. Plenty long enough to have learnt to fend for himself.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Uh, guys?' Scout called softy.

_Tick-tick-tick._

'And he can!' Spy said firmly.

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Sometimes I do wonder. I mean, he doesn't seem like a bad fella, but if he can't even defend himself against one measly Spy... No offence meant and all.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Seriously, guys, you might wanna have a look at this.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Spies are meant to counter Snipers!' Spy argued. 'It's one of our jobs.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Yes, but I've been keeping an eye on his scorecards and that BLU snake is getting far too many kills on him.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'And that's why we're “fussing over him” as you put it. We're just trying to stop him from being targeted so much so he can get one with his job properly.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Christ. _Guys_.'

'We can't have half the team watching one guy's backside. No wonder we've lost five matches in a row if one of our guys is letting the enemy Spy, of all people, walk right over him.'

_Tick-tick-tick._

'Have you seen Sniper's headshot count? It's been going up and up ever since he got here and it's not at though he asked to be targeted by—'

'Guys! For fucks sake!'

Spy and Engineer looked up from their arguing. For a moment everything in the room fell silent apart from the hum of the computer and the continuing _Tick-tick-tick._

Wordlessly, Scout held up the long ream of paper coming out of the machine. It looped between his hands, curling up at the end, and still continued to grow.

'Oh,' Spy said, his small. Full death reports were always detailed but he'd never seen anything like this before. He hurried to Scout's side. The thin paper rustled as he drew a section up to his eyes.

'Contusions caused by...further abrasions...the BLU Pyro...costal cartilage...fractured clavicle...BLU Soldier...snapped proximal phalanges...' Spy muttered to himself as he scanned down the list.

'That's bad, isn't it?' Scout asked, eyebrows pinched together. 'Like, _really_ bad, right?'

Spy let the paper fall from his hands and turned back to the Sniper's red respawn light, his eyes distant.

'Yes, Scout. That's bad.'

'You think he's been tortured?' Engineer asked.

'No, he's just been set on by half the enemy team going for him like a pack of rabid animals.' Spy shook his head as though he couldn't quite believe that even the BLUs could sink this low.

'So this means he did end up in town,' Scout said. 'None of us must have warned him. Oh fuck those BLUs! Next time I see one of them out of hours I'm going to kill them!'

'No, Scout.'

'What?' said Scout and Engineer at the same time, their disbelief echoing between them.

'As much as I myself find the idea... appealing, we can't sink to their level. We can't let ourselves end up like them.'

'I've told you this before, Spy, and I'll tell it to you again: We're mercenaries. Our job is sinking to the level decent people never would. We're murderers. We already are them, just wearing a different colour.'

Spy shook his head slightly but didn't bother arguing his point. The machine had finally finished printing out the report. Spy tore away the still-warm paper to study the final cause of death.

One bullet to the head. Good. At least they hadn't left him to die slowly from internal bleeding.

One bullet wound to the head... delivered by the BLU Spy. That shouldn't have surprised Spy but it did. He ran the rest of the report back through his hands, searching.

Nothing.

The BLU Spy hadn't had anything to do with the rest of the attack.

How strange. Spy hadn't thought his counterpart capable of mercy. Something about it unsettled him more than anything else on the report. He wondered what it meant.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time around I've got not just the boyfriend to thank for looking this chapter over but also StrangeCarcajou and LegendaryBard (and no, guys, I never did work out what bit I thought I'd forgotten to add!)  
> Next chapter Sniper spends some time in respawn, so why don't we spend a little time in his past...


	42. Tough Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to StrangeCarcajou for swooping in and proofreading this for me while the boyfriend's feeling a bit under the weather.

Granny Mundy stepped carefully around the paper that covered most of the floor. It was made out of numerous sheets of A4 all carefully sellotaped together at the back in perfect alignment. Strange doodles covered every inch of it, hundreds of little figures drawn out in painstaking detail, if with also little awareness of basic anatomy.

'What you doing under there then, Nat?’ she called under the bed with its blue duvet patterned with flying rocket ships.

'A war,' a small voice said.

'You're doing a war, are you?'

There was a beat of silence as this statement was considered. 'I'm _drawing_ a war.'

'What's this here?' Granny Mundy pointed to a wobbly blob with a figure in it that seemed to be some kind of tailed, bat-winged man.

There was a scuffling from under the bed. Granny Mundy's grandson stuck his head out, the six-year-old's solemn face studying the section she'd pointed to. 'That's a pond, Gran. That's where one of the flying crocodile men is waiting to jump out and go, “roar” at one of the robots and then bite it and eat it. Well, maybe not eat it. Flying crocodile men can't eat robots.'

'Of course not,' Granny Mundy agreed, nodding. Nathaniel looked up and smiled at her briefly, his mismatched eyes meeting hers for a second before looking away again. There was a cobweb stuck in his flyaway hair. Granny Mundy reached out to brush it away. Nathaniel flinched and pulled way, his eyes closed tight as though he was expecting a slap.

She dropped her hand, trying not to let that hurt her. Neither her son or her daughter-in-law were abusive parents; little Nat had no reason to fear being touched but he would squirm away from the slightest of contact all the same. She hoped he'd grow out of that one day, but for now she knew to approach her grandson on his grounds.

'What are these then?'

'Oh, the carrier pigeons! They carrying water bombs. They drop them on the robots and the robots go, “fizz!” and their electricals stop working and then they can't move anymore.'

'And these ones?'

'Snakes! But with knives! The robots glued the knives to them and then they go out and attack the flying crocodile men.'

'Oh do they now?'

'Yes!'

‘Wouldn't flying crocodile men just be dragon men though?'

Nathaniel stopped to ponder this, pencil tapping against his mouth. 'No,' he decided, 'because they don't breathe fire.'

'Ah yes, of course.'

'Who's winning, Nat?'

'Huh?' He started adding in another robot to a small, bare area.

'Who's winning the war you're drawing?'

Nathaniel bit his bottom lip and frowned in concentration as he surveyed the full scene. 'I don't know, Gran. It's a surprise.'

'Oh, who for?'

'Me.'

Granny Mundy smiled and shook her head in exasperated amusement. 'Well, I think it all looks fantastic, Nat.'

Her grandson nodded, concentration fixed back on his new robot. He started to hum to himself as he drew.

'Dinner will be ready in about five minutes,' Granny Mundy said as she turned to leave. 'Make sure you listen out for your mum calling you.' He nodded again.

Most people would have thought their compliment had been shrugged off and ignored, but Granny Mundy knew her grandson better than that. He only started humming to himself when he was really pleased with something.

 

Nathanial Mundy put down his pencil as soon as his grandmother left the room and raised a hand. _10, 9,8..._ he put his fingers down one at a time... _3, 2, 1._

He stood up and made his way out of his room, down the hallways and to the stairs. On bare feet, he padded down to the fourth stair and, tucking himself up into a tight ball, sat down there. He rested his head against the banister and listened.

His Gran's voice floated up to him. '—Just seen that huge drawing of his.'

'He's at that damn thing again? We've told him to leave it alone! He’s spent the last couple of weeks doing nothing else. It can’t be healthy.’' That was his father. He didn't sound happy. 'Nataniel keeps acting like if he hides under the bed when he's working on it, we won't know.'

'I think it's very impressive. There has to be hundreds of little characters on there. Don't know many six-year-old boys who'd have the attention span to put that much effort into something.'

'Exactly. He's not like the other boys.'

'George!' His mother that time. There's the clatter of plates. Gran was right, dinner was nearly ready.

'I think I remember another little boy who wasn't much like the other kids when he was growing up...'

'Mum! That was different. I was tough. I could handle it. And I still had friends. Nathaniel... he's not very good at making friends.'

Nathaniel frowned to himself and started chewing at his nails.

'But what he is very good at is drawing and concentrating and helping his dad out around the farm.'

'Art's girly. Not the kind of thing any son of mine should be spending his time on.'

'And the things he draws... we do worry sometimes. They can be so violent,' his mother chipped in.

'Would have thought that would make up for it. Nice and masculine, is violence.'

'Oh Mum, don't be like that!'

'We just worry about him, that's all,’ his mum said. ‘The teachers say he's backwards. He still can't read though lord knows we've tried to help him with that. And he can't stand being hugged. And he won't even look us in the eye half the time. I just—I just—.' Nathaniel rubbed at his stinging eyes as his mum trailed off. 'I just don't know what's going to become of him. He's just so different.'

'Got all his limbs in the right places, hasn't he? Can walk and run and talk and laugh?'

'Yes, mum, but—'

'Not so different from the rest of the kids then is he? And even if he is a bit different, well everyone is! No two people are the same.'

'Yes, but—'

'And you love him, don't you?'

'Well of course, but—'

'And he loves you.'

'Yes...'

'No kid grows up to be exactly what their parents imagined because what their parents imagined is a fantasy based on their own interests. Off the things they wanted to do but never could or the things they value most. I had dreams of you becoming a doctor one day, George.'

'Well I never knew that!'

'Of course not. That's because you never had any interest in medicine whatsoever. Why should my beliefs on who you should grow up to be have trumped your own ambitions?'

A silence followed. Nathaniel sniffled quietly, eyes closed as he fought not to let any tears through. Boys don't cry; dad had taught him that.

'We're just not sure out here's the best place for him, Mum. Maybe if we'd raised him in the city he would have been forced to make friends! Out here he just spends all his time cooped up in his room or out there in the wilderness by himself. We worry about the man he might grow up to be if he's stuck out here with so little human contact.'

'He's a good kid, and with you two as parents, he's going to grow up to be a good man. You just have to nurture his skills; support him. He's never going to grow up to be who you hoped he would be because that person was never going to exist outside of your imaginations. He's a quirky little boy, I'll give him tha,t but with his dedication he's got the potential to grow up to be a talented artist if you just let him.'

Nathaniel shook his head and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. No, dad had already told him there was no money in art. 'Might as well pick up this gun here and start shooting heads off for a living,' he'd said. 'At least that would pay.'

Nathaniel climbed back up the stairs and crept to his room. His foot met paper. Nathaniel shifted back, finding a grubby, dusty footprint left right over the top of the huge heavy robot he'd decided was the robot overlord.

He bit his lip hard as he stared at it, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. He'd been working on this project for days. But it just made dad angry and mum upset. And now he'd gone and messed it up.

Slowly, he leant down, reaching his arms out. Fully stretched, they spanned less than a quarter of the paper. He got hold of it and dragged everything into his arms. He grabbed and pulled and crumpled, crushing everything in against his chest, feeling the sound through his ribs as much as hearing it. It wasn't long before he was left with a huge, scrunched up ball of paper and sellotape, all those hours of work crushed.

'I told you to listen out for your mum calling! Dinner's out on—oh, Nat. Oh, Nat, what have you done?'

Nathaniel shook his head and pressed his forehead against the ruined project. He didn't have the words to explain.

'Nat, sweetie...' Granny Mundy set down slowly next to him and reached out. For once, Nathaniel didn't flinch away. He let his grandmother pull him into her arms, his skinny chest shaking with silent sobs.

 

Sniper was in one of the art rooms at uni, doodling while he waited for Michelle to arrive. The doodle was supposed to be of her but somehow he couldn't get it right at all, the image swimming and distorting in front of his eyes. The harder he tried to concentrate, the worse it got.

Something was beeping steadily.

Muttered voices surrounded him, but he didn't know what they were saying.

He was back home, saddling up one of the horses. His whole body ached as he reached up to place the saddle on its back. Bloody horse must have kicked him.

Every breath was rasping and hoarse, his throat dry, the air passing over his tongue too bitter.

A hand held his. Tight. So tight, like if they'd die if the let go. It ground together the small bones in his hand. They would not let go.

Sniper's head pounded. He blinked. The world was white. Too white. Too much. All too much. The world went turned to black again.

A crash. Metal sent to the ground. The tinkle of glass.

'Spy!'

Fear shuddered through him.

Thirty-two headshots. Thirty-three headshots. Thirty-five headshots. No that wasn't right, back to the beginning. One headshot. Two headshots. His hands were shaking.

Sniper opened his eyes. He was strapped down, couldn't move. The BLU Medic leered over him, scalpel in hand. Sniper tried to scream.

Someone was screaming.

A hand stroked over his hair. The only form of contact he'd allowed as a child, the only thing that had brought him peace. When had his dislike for physical contact faded, a hunger for it growing in its place? Sniper didn't know. A hushed voice spoke to him, quiet and reassuring. It didn't matter. Everything was all right.

Soot was missing, that crotchety old cat who lived in the hayloft. She hated everybody else but him. She'd let him stroke her. But she was missing. Dad said she was probably out hunting. Mum said nothing at all. Have you seen her?

A constant beep. Sniper wished it would go away.

A shadow at the end of his bed. A familiar face. Dark hair, round glasses, the outline of a lab coat. Something was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

'Shh-shh-shh.'

No no no. The shadow reached out and took his hand, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles. No no no. Sniper turned away. If he couldn't see it, it wasn't there.

The touch lingered.

Sniper was back in his van, back in his bed, lying on his back, fighting. He couldn't get up. Couldn't shake the Spy off. The Spy's grin etched itself into his mind even when he turned his face away. No matter how hard he tried, Sniper couldn't shake the Spy off. He was getting heavier and heavier and heavier. The Spy was winning. Sniper couldn't stand the thought of what his prize might be.

Everything hurt. Sniper groaned. He tried opening his eyes but the light was too bright. He shifted, biting back a hiss as that just made everything worse.

A shape shifted to the right of him. Sniper flinched. And then gasped. That had hurt like hell.

'Yo, man, you awake?' Scouts faced appeared over Sniper, biting his bottom lip with his buck teeth.

Sniper blinked against the light and nodded muzzily. Another mistake. That just made pain spike through his neck and temples.

'For real? I mean, properly this time?'

There was something over Sniper's mouth. It reduced his hoarse, 'yes,' to a muffled groan.

'Jeez, thank god! I thought you were never gonna wake up!'

Sniper slowly, oh so slowly, reached up hand towards his face. He grunted in pain, arm and fingers protesting. There was something over the bottom half of his face. Some kind of oxygen mask. Sniper pried it off.

'No, leave it alone!' Scout said. 'Just stay there a minute and don't do anything stupid while I go grab Medic. Oh, and don't fall asleep again!'

Scout hurried away. With a low groan, Sniper tried to push himself into a sitting position. The beeping from his dreams intruded on reality, growing faster as he struggled. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. No. This wasn't going to work.

With unsteady, shaky hands, he dragged the oxygen mask up over his head. Moving his right arm up that high bordered on agony. Sniper reached for the IV needle in his arm, trying to tear off the tape that held it down but his fingers wouldn't cooperate.

'No, no, no!' Medic called as he swept into the room. 'Leave everything alone; it's there for a reason, you know! I blame the movies. The 'heroes' are always ripping their IVs out. I bet you they wouldn't be quite so gung-ho about a catheter!'

'Catheter?' Sniper echoed, blanching.

'Everything currently in you is there because it needs to be, Sniper. Now tell me, what's your name?'

Sniper frowned for a moment. 'Sniper.'

'Well, yes, but what's your real name?'

'None of your business.' They weren't supposed to tell each other, Medic knew that.

Medic sighed in exasperation. 'I've seen your full medical fill. I know what your real name is.'

'Oh.' An expectant silence followed. 'Nathaniel Mundy,' Sniper said at last. 'Don't call me that though. Mundy's what all m’ Dad's mates call him and I'm not old enough to be a 'Nathaniel'.

'How old do you have to be to be a Nathaniel?' Medic asked curiously.

''Bout ten years older than me.' Sniper had been thinking that since he was a kid though. Ten more years. It was always ten more years.

'What country are we in?'

''Merica.'

'What state?'

'Urgh, umm,' Sniper's head was pounding. Thinking was almost as painful as everything else. 'Colorado, right?'

'Right.'

'You gonna ask me who'd president next?'

'No. What's twelve times three?'

'Maths.'

' _Sniper_ ,' Medic said warningly.

Sniper whined. It hurt. Everything hurt. Trying to engage his brain right now was like trying to push along a giant square wheel except every time to managed to move it, it fell on top of him.

'It's summit...summit like...' Sniper screwed his face up in concentration. 'Twenty-four, then...uh, thirty-six, right?'

'Yes.'

Sniper sighed in relief. 'Can I ask a question now?'

'Certainly.'

'What the fuck?' There was going to be more to the question but he lost steam part way through.

Medic didn't seem phased though. 'Do you remember what happened?'

Sniper winced and nodded, then winced again. 'Yeah. Mostly. Some bits are blurred. BLUs...beat the shit out of me.' A thought slowly filtered through the fog in Sniper's head. 'Why aren't I all healed up?' This was the kind of state he would have expected to wake up in (if he woke up at all) out in the real world, not here.

'You remember when you got that scar and the medigun acted much more slowly than usual?'

'Well yeah, but that was 'cos I'd had the injury for hours before I got medical attention, right? I went straight to respawn after I died, didn't I?' Another questioned occurred to him. 'Wait, what did I die from?' He remembered pain; intense, mind-numbing pain and the enemy Medic approaching him with a scalpel. Sniper shuddered. Had that been how he died?

'A bullet to the head.'

'Oh.' That came as a kind of relief somehow. So respawn hadn't suppressed any eye-gouging memories. At least there was that.

'As for your other questions, well, yes. You went straight into respawn. But then you were trapped there all weekend. If you want a full explanation of how it works you'd have to ask Engineer and set aside the rest of your afternoon for it. As far as I am able to explain it, there's a constant loop of data sent between the information stored on your condition upon entering the machine and the condition you'll be reset to when you leave. I believe it's a prognoses of sorts, a way for the system to compare and assess what changes need to be made. Except with each relay of the information, the chances a glitch happening increases.'

'Glitch?' Sniper echoes weakly. What exactly was there about him that was “glitched?”

'It's something about the data files for your injuries getting shifted into your respawn template instead of the fixes being applied. Under normal circumstances it never happens, but for every hour someone is trapped in respawn, the chances of some of their injuries coming through with them increase. You were in there twenty six hours.'

'Oh.'

'The only other time I've known respawn glitch was with our last Sniper. Something went wrong with the system briefly and not only did his injuries get applied to his respawn template but they exhilarated. Instead of respawning with fresh injuries, he respawned with ones that had the equivalent of being a year or so old.

'Thankfully, all yours are 'fresh' injuries.'

'Oh good,' Sniper mumbled, not quite following but knowing this conversation would leave him scared of ever trusting respawn again.

'This means that now you're awake and I can confirm that you're fully cognitive, I can start giving you a full dose of medigun fluid. The good news is that most of your injuries are internal—'

That didn't sound like especially good news to Sniper.

'—So that means they should heal up quicker than your scar did.'

'Oh good,' Sniper said, and he meant it, he just didn't have the energy for putting much in the way of enthusiasm into his voice right now.

'But haven't I been out for a while?' Sniper asked, remembering what Scout had said about him 'finally' waking up.

'Yes, two days on top of the time spent in respawn.'

'Then why haven't I been able to have the full dose up until now?' The good doctor must have his reason but all the same, Sniper would have much rather woken up in much less pain and discomfort than this.

'Ah, well... The Administrator and her staff have been involved in this...case.'

The beeping sound picked up pace again. The higher-ups had been involved? Had they decided he was too much trouble to deal with? Had they somehow found out he made a phone call home?'

'The good news is that they docked a month's pay from every BLU involved in the incident as your attack occurred out of bounds and out of hours. The bad news is that they didn't want to use any extra resources on you until we knew for sure you weren't going to end up, well, a vegetarian.'

'Wait, what?' Sniper asked, flummoxed.

'You know, brain dead.'

' _Vegetable_ , Medic, a vegetable.'

'That's what I said,' Medic replied sniffily. Sniper decided not to argue.

'You received a notable amount of head trauma along with your other injuries,' Medic continued. 'The scans I ran were promising, but I had no way of telling for sure that you'd wake up, let alone wake up fully cognitive again.'

'I'm fine!' Sniper insisted, even as his head pounded. 'I'm fine!'

'Which thankfully means I can up your dosage of medigun fluid,' Medic said, fiddling with the UV line. 'Also, please put the oxygen mask back on.'

With a groan, Sniper slowly pulled it back on again. Immediately the sharp smell of eucalyptus and tea tree washed over him. Sniper let out a sigh, his tense muscles gradually relaxing as the painkilling properties of the fumes swept through him.

'Best get some sleep, Sniper.'

Sniper wanted to point out that he'd only just woken up but with the pain fading he became aware of just how exhausted he was. He nodded in reply, eyes drifting shut. This time, he dreamt of nothing at all.

The next time Sniper woke up it was much darker and Spy was sitting at his bedside, reading a newspaper and smoking.

'Ah, Sniper!' he said when Sniper shifted. He quickly plucked the cigarette from his mouth and gestured to it. 'Our little secret, all right? Medic doesn't like me s-m-o-k-i-n-g in here.'

'K,' Sniper said, his mouth and throat feeling like sandpaper. He coughed roughly.

'Need a drink?'

Sniper nodded. Spy carefully helped him sit up. It didn't hurt nearly as much as Sniper's previous attempt but he was still aching and uncomfortable. His ribs twinged painfully. Clearly he wasn't fully-healed yet. Spy handed him a glass of water and hovered by his side as he drank it.

'Small sips,' he insisted. Grudgingly, Sniper obeyed. He didn't have the energy not to.

'Sorry,' Sniper said when he was finished

'For what?'

'For everything. Didn't mean to cause all this fuss.'

'You didn't, the BLUs did.'

'If only I hadn't gone into town though...'

'You didn't know. You couldn't have known. It's our fault we didn't tell you.'

'Has Medic said how long I'm likely to be in here?' Sniper was eager to be up and about as soon as possible.

'I believe that remains to be seen. We've received permission to allow you the full week off.'

'I can be back up and fighting before then!' Sniper argued.

Spy shook his head. 'Doctor's orders. If he has to break both your legs to keep you in here, he probably will.'

'Bit harsh.'

'Medic's a 'tough love' type. He just doesn't want you under any unnecessary strain until we're sure you're all right.'

'I'll be fine,' Sniper insisted. He had to be. If the high-ups decided he wasn't fit for work, they'd put him down.

Another thought occurred to him. 'Spy, my van—'

'Is safely in the garage,' Spy assured him. 'Demoman and I went into town and found it. ‘I’m afraid I may have had to hot-wire it to get it going but Engineer has fixed the damage.'

'Oh. That's good.' A weight seemed to lift off of Sniper's shoulders. 'And was it all right? Was everything where it should be?'

'As far as I am aware. I am not intimately familiar with the contents of your van but it shows no signs of having been broken into.'

Sniper nodded in relief. If he'd lost that van... he'd have lost everything. He couldn't bear to even think about what a blow that would have been.

'Now, if you give me a few minutes I think I can return with something else that will cheer you up.'

'Oh?' Sniper said, curious.

Spy flashed him a grin and left the room. A few minutes later he came back with a steaming mug. Sniper eyes it warily as it was placed by his bed. He could be rather particular about the coffee he drank. Mentally preparing himself to fake enthusiasm, Sniper carefully picked the mug up, his body protesting the movement.

'Oh!' he said in genuine delight when the steam wafted towards him, bringing with it a familiar scent. 'You found my coffee!'

'Sniper. I think everyone on the team knows where you 'hide' your favourite brand of coffee in the kitchen.'

Another, 'Oh.' Sniper hadn't realised he'd been that obvious. He hadn't been trying to be sneaky...he'd simply not wanted anyone else to get at it.

'And this is not, in fact, from there. I'd noticed your coffee grounds were rather out of date so I got you some fresh.'

Sniper took a tentative sip. It was exactly how he liked it, strong, with no sugar and just a dash of milk. How closely had Spy been watching him this whole time?

'Thanks,' he said. 'This is great.' The coffee seemed to run into his bones, heating him up pleasantly from the inside out.

Spy stayed and talked for a while, updating Sniper on how the battles he'd missed had gone. The BLU Sniper had been ordered to take the time off as well (Sniper silently hoped he was still getting paid, as he'd been the one to try and actually stop what had happened, even if his warning hadn't helped in the end.) With the teams still even, the BLUs bickering amongst themselves worse than ever and the REDs united in their rage over Sniper's treatment, the BLU win-streak from last week had been well and truly smashed.

That along with the coffee helped cheer Sniper up immensely.

But then Spy had to call it a night, promising Sniper that Medic would be calling in soon to check on him.

As soon as Sniper was left alone with his aches and pains and worries, a kind of darkness seemed to spiral in on him. He couldn't stop fretting. About anyone finding out he'd called his parents. About getting well again before he got axed. About whether or not he would get entirely better or if some of his injuries were going to have lasting effects. He even worried about Spy's tattoo. He'd promised to get on with that soon but there was no way he could now.

A wave of homesickness crashed into Sniper, swamping and overwhelming him as he thought back to his phone call. Now, more keenly than ever before in his life, he wished for home. For his parents. For his farm. For his animals. For his country. For his old life.

It was ridiculous. He was a thirty-one-year-old man who'd lived away from home for nearly half his life now. And it wasn't as though he'd ever been particularly happy at home. But... But all the same, as night deepened and the machines beeped and whirred around him and nothing else stepped up to fill the empty cavern yawning in his chest, Sniper wished he was home.

He must have fallen asleep as the next time Sniper woke up, it was to find Medic sat next to him, his hands clutching at the edge of the mattress.

'Mrrr?' Sniper said, still half asleep.

Medic started guiltily and then gave him a soft smile. He reached out and placed his hand on Sniper's wrist and gave it a squeeze. 'Go back to sleep, Sniper.'

A stray thought tugged at Sniper. He frowned, trying to concentrate on it but the thread had already snapped, floating free, and he didn't have the will to chase it. He nodded faintly, or maybe he just thought he did. Sniper was too sleep-muddled to know. He closed his eyes and soon drifted off again.

If Sniper had thought to ask the next day if Medic had stayed by his bed during the night, the answer would have been no.

 

 


	43. Bedside Manner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foe Yay turns two years old today. Two years. Dear lord.
> 
> To mark the occasion I've finished up and released another playlist, this time for the BLU Spy (not that he deserves it!) You can find it [here](http://8tracks.com/terminalnostalgia/the-devil-s-got-nothing-on-me-my-friend)  
> 
> 
>   
> Cover art by Ietranger on Tumblr.

The rest of the week passed slowly for Sniper. His teammates stopped by in ones and twos to see how he was doing in their free time. During battles though, he was left all alone.

Sniper persuaded Medic to let him get up and try and walk around by himself on the second day. Medic was reluctant but sniper was desperate to regain some autonomy and to get rid of that catheter. Trying to get out of bed left him gasping for breath and trembling. The walk, or more accurately, shuffle to the bathroom was even worse but he managed somehow.

By the third day the medigun had healed up most of his wounds, leaving him even more restless. Sniper had already come to dread the long hours he was left alone by himself with nothing but a sandwich in the fridge and his own thoughts for company. It wasn't just boredom that got to him at those times, but something deeper. Something that leaked into his bones and settled deep into his mind. It wasn't quite dread, it was duller than that, even if just pervasive. As hard as he tried, he couldn't shake it. Instead, it seemed to be getting worse.

That evening, Spy came to visit him again.

'Another victory!' he announced.

He clearly thought it would cheer Sniper up but the opposite was true. So they had a losing streak while he was on the battlefield but the minute they got rid of him they did nothing but win. Sniper knew he wasn't being entirely fair to himself. Soldier had assured him that thanks to the BLU's treatment of one of 'his' men he'd rallied 'his troops' to fight harder than ever. Demoman said that without the BLU sniper on the field, the BLU team was even more fractured than normal. Heavy confessed that he suspected the enemy Heavy must have fallen out with his Medic because they weren't working together like they usually did. And Spy had already said yesterday that he'd seen oddly little of his counterpart. Then he'd hesitated, as though there was something else he should say, and then changed his mind.

All the same, it was hard for Sniper to shake that dull not-quite-dread feeling that whispered in his ears that he was a useless waste of space and the rest of his team would be better with a different sniper, any sniper.

'Still no sign of the other Spy?' Sniper asked.

'Oh, a bit of the usual smoke and mirrors but he's not been up to the same sort of trouble as usual. Has it been all quiet here for you during the matches?'

Sniper snorted. 'You can say that again! It's been as quiet as anything here.' What did that have to do with the BLU Spy though? It's not as though he'd come visiting during match time with flowers.

The horrifying thought of the Spy appearing in here while Sniper was still weak and recovering and all possible witnesses were a couple of miles away made the nape of Sniper's neck prickle. A memory—most likely, most hopefully, just a brain-addled nightmare—flashed through his mind. Of a presence by his bedside. Of a clatter of falling metal. Of a cry of alarm. _Spy!_

Sniper shook his head. Just a dream. The enemy Spy had no reason to come here. He hadn't been involved in what happened so it wasn't as though he had any unfinished business with Sniper.

All the same, once that unsettling thought same to him, it wasn't easy to shake. It settled in with his other worries and festered away at the back of his mind.

'Those BLUs aren't happy about their docked pay,' Spy said, looking rather pleased about it. 'The Pyro is especially mad about it, spewing flame around all over the place but it doesn't do much if you just keep your distance. In fact, I've hardly had to do my job at all. They're all so wound-up and angry that all I need to do is bump into one and move on and the whole lot of them end up a frothing, spy-checking mess.'

'All of them, really?' Sniper asked.

'Hmm, well most. The Heavy, Scout and Engineer don't seem to be fighting as hard as usual. Made it very easy for Scout and I to slip in and steal the intelligence.'

'Hope the BLU's are still out of sorts when I get back,' Sniper said. He was desperate to get out there again. To prove his usefulness. To fight back. To take some heads. Revenge was a useful driving force at times and a little bit of pent-up rage helped distract from that aching, heavy, will-sapping feeling he had no proper name for.

They talked for a little while longer until Spy had to leave for dinner. Sniper's stomach rumbled and Spy promised to go fetch him a plate. Medic had banned Sniper from leaving the infirmary, and as much as he hated being cooped up, Sniper knew he wouldn’t make it all the way to the kitchen even with help.

As soon as Spy left, anxiety twisted at Sniper's stomach in a way it hadn't since he was first moved to Death Row. Sniper didn't want Spy to leave. He felt like a child clutching at coattails. It was pathetic.

Dinner, when it arrived, was a homemade cheeseburger and fries, courtesy of Engineer. The thought of all that greasy food made Sniper feel unusually queasy but his hunger overruled it.

Spy placed down the plate and, with a flourish, pulled out a bottle of beer he'd been hiding behind his back.

'Ooh, thanks, mate!'

'Shh,' don't tell Medic,' Spy said conspiratorially. Sniper grinned. Spy popped the lid off with his knife and handed it over, Sniper pushing himself up eagerly to receive it. The bottle was pleasantly cold, condensation beading on its surfaces.

'Anything else you want?' Spy asked.

Sniper paused, bottle halfway to his lips. 'Well...' he said. There was, but he hated to bother anyone with it.

'As long as it's not the immediate and permanent assassination of any BLU, I can probably help you. Though I would be up for that too if only it were permanent.'

'Well it's just that being trapped in here during matches in kinda boring. I'm dying to get my hands on the new art stuff I bought in town. It's all in the back of my van.'

'I'm sure I can pick those up for you,' Spy promised.

'No rush though, mate,' Sniper added. 'Don't even need them tonight. You go enjoy your dinner.'

Spy left to do so, though Sniper suspected this really wasn't his idea of a good meal. Sniper tucked into the burger eagerly but after a couple of mouthfuls his hunger seemed to fade away while the queasy feeling from before returned. He began listlessly poking at the fries. They'd probably be better with ketchup. But then the thought of that just made him feel worse.

Sniper set the meal aside with a sigh. Maybe being unconscious for all that time had affected how much he could eat. At least he had the cool beer. That went down much better than the food. Despite its low content, the beer left a pleasant little buzz in the back of Sniper's head. It helped dull the edge of loneliness and boredom and whatever it was he was going through right now.

Despite what Sniper had said, Spy did bring the bags of art supplies over that evening. 'There's a lot here!' he said.

'Yeah, went a bit crazy,' Sniper admitted, having to fight the sudden urge to distance himself from everything the Spy had brought him. Growing up, buying 'arty-farty' stuff (if he could get hold of it) wasn't to be admitted. It was to be sneaked up into his room with the hopes that no one would find it. At uni, some of that had remained, even while surrounded by other art students. At least then he'd always had the convenient excuse of, 'need them for class'.

Here... here his first instinct was to deny all connection. Art wasn't masculine. It wasn't valuable skill. It wasn't something a mercenary of all people should be interested in. But all the same, no one had mocked him for it yet. And Sniper suspected that Spy would be the last person to do so. The BLU Spy though... if he knew he'd probably laugh at Sniper and try and find a way to use it against him.

Sniper went to sleep that night feeling a little happier now that he had something to look forward to. It took him longer than normal to fall asleep while his mind buzzed with all the possibilities of what he could work on tomorrow.

 

It was hard for the BLU Spy to understand, and even harder for him to describe, how he'd felt when he heard the BLU Sniper wouldn't be needed on the battlefield. It was that titbit of news on Monday morning that made him realise there must be something wrong with _his_ Sniper.

He'd been planning on finding his Sniper out on the battlefield as soon as he could. He'd had a speech all prepared that would be just the thing for getting his Sniper to understand that the Spy had been his saviour. For getting him to understand that he really owed him one.

The Spy would be gracious. Modest. Sniper would ask, in that charmingly awkward way of his, what he could do to pay the Spy back for saving him. The Spy would lay out all the attractive options. He'd guide Sniper towards agreeing to his personal favourite. They'd meet up later. And Spy would make sure his Sniper showed him just how grateful he really was.

It had been the perfect plan. But now it was ruined.

He'd barely been able to concentrate all match, one scenario after another running through his head as to what might be wrong with his Sniper. He hoped no one had been paying attention to his kills that day because it couldn't have been more than a handful; nothing like his usual track record.

He'd considered trying to sneak off-site to go make sure his Sniper was still alive, but that wouldn't be an easy thing to do. The battlefield, large as it was, was still entirely fenced off from the world outside. It was the best way of keeping any overly curious locals out. Not because the higher-ups cared about what happened to stupid people who wandered into a battlefield, but because of the amount of fuss and paperwork that came with them dying.

There was only one way off-site if you didn't want to try and scale barbed-wire-topped fencing: teleporters. However, the teleporters only worked in the mornings and when it was time to go home and even if they were up and running all the time, Spy couldn't pass through the RED teleporter. He knew that from experience.

So all he could do was spend all day... worrying. Yes, it was definitely what would be classed as 'worrying', even if Spy struggled to admit it to himself.

Seeing their defeat coming a mile off, Spy hid himself away during the humiliation round. From the distant cries and gunshots, the REDs seemed to be working much harder than normal to track down every BLU. No one spotted the Spy and after five minutes or so he felt the painful little tug behind his navel that told him he was about to be dragged back through respawn alive.

With a familiar jolt, the Spy found himself back in the resupply room with the rest of his team. They queued to use the teleporters, jostling and pushing each other out of the way as they grumbled about the loss. The Spy didn't fancy waiting.

'Oi, you fucker!' the Scout cried as the Spy slipped in front of him just as the teleporter booted up again, dragging the Spy back to base instead of him. The Spy allowed himself a little smile over that before heading off towards the RED base.

It was over a mile in the dark and with every step the Spy found himself feeling more and more wound-up. Was his Sniper dead? Paralysed? Had that bullet to his brain become lodged in his head? Was he slowly dying from internal bleeding too great for even a medigun to fix? Was he even conscious?

As soon as the lights of the RED base came into view, he cloaked. None of them would take kindly to finding a BLU on their territory, now more than ever.

He continued on at an agonisingly slow pace, having to stop to let his cloak and dagger recharge every few seconds. Finally, he made it over to the medical wing. The Spy knew the exact layout of the RED base; it was identical to the BLU after all, just facing in the opposite direction.

Making sure that he was completely invisible, the Spy peered through the first infirmary window. The room beyond was lit up but there was no sign of his Sniper. The Spy moved along to the next one. He ducked back as the RED Medic walked past him. He slowly edged his way back up again.

There! His Sniper! He was lying on a bed in the infirmary, enemy Spy by his side.

The Spy moved one more window down to get a better look and, triple checking his watch, stood up to look in. His RED equivalent was clearing away a pile of bloody bandages. The Spy's heart lurched. He studied the Sniper, eyes flickering all over his still form. Asleep or unconscious or in a coma. But not dead, definitely not dead. Spy could see the machine monitoring his heart rate from here. The steady blip gave the Spy some semblance of reassurance. The rest of the image didn't look good though. Fresh bandages swathed what was visible of his Sniper's chest, with more bandages and gauze wrapped around his head and arms. He looked small, oddly small, for such a tall man. Pale too, face gaunt. Naked without his usual hat and glasses.

The RED Spy returned from dumping the old bandages. He stood by Sniper's side, looking at him. The Spy couldn't see his expression from here but the proximity to _his_ Sniper had the Spy glaring daggers at the RED's back and wishing he could plunge a real one into it.

The RED Spy reached out and gave his Sniper's wrist a reassuring squeeze. He said something, too low for the Spy to hear.

Jealousy shot through him quicker than one of his Sniper's arrows.

That man was _his._ His property! How dare Antoine touch him!

Medic came back into view. The two talked. He still couldn't make out what was being said, but from the frequent glances towards his Sniper, the Spy could guess what the object of their discussion might be.

RED Spy nodded and left. The Spy's fingers twitched towards the knife in his pocket. Just the Medic. It would be easy. The Medic wouldn't respawn until tomorrow so unless any of his Sniper's other teammates cared enough about him to come and check in on him, the Spy might have him to himself all night.

But he was already on thin ice. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say, and in mercy killing his Sniper, the Spy had incurred the Administrator's wrath alongside the rest of his teammates involved in the attack.

The Spy had best lay low for another, oh, couple of weeks or so before he tried anything. Strictly speaking, what he was doing right now definitely fell under the category of things that could get him into trouble, but he'd been careful to stay cloaked so far and what the Administrator didn't know, couldn't hurt her. Which also meant the Spy had better not hurt any REDs either.

The Spy was, generally, an impatient man. He preferred instant gratification and was willing to do quite a lot to get it. However, once he really set his mind on something, he could wait and wait and wait, knowing the results would be all the sweeter for the savouring.

After fifteen minutes or so, the Medic left. But not before giving the unconscious Sniper's shoulder a light touch that left the Spy full of plans for hurting him on the battlefield.

He gave it another ten minutes after that, eyes flicking from his watch to his Sniper and back again. No sign of anyone. Of course not. No one had any real reason to care about the Sniper after all. He was a Sniper. After having his original plan ruined, the Spy would have to find a new way of proving to his Sniper that _he_ was the only one who was truly watching out for him. The only one who truly had his back. Even with all the knives he'd stabbed in it.

 

The infirmary wasn't nearly as easy to get into as it was to look into. The Spy used careful management of his cloak and sneaking abilities to work his way deep into the RED base. Oddly, by the time he got to the medical bay, he hadn't actually needed to use them even once, not if he didn't count the cameras. The rest of the RED team must been off somewhere else in the base, making the most of their time without the Sniper around.

And there he was. The Spy slowly closed the infirmary door behind himself and stepped forward. He was there. Right there. Spy's Sniper. His breathing was shaky and laboured under an oxygen mask. The monitors around him beeped and hummed as they worked. The Spy moved closer. Closer. Close enough to touch him.

The Spy's chest rose and fell in time with Sniper's without him even realising it.

He licked his lips and slowly reached out a hand. His fingers curled around Sniper's hand. They felt oddly warm, even through his gloves. With how sick he looked and how still he was lying the Spy had expected his Sniper to feel cold.

The Spy let go, fingers trailing up the inside of his Sniper's forearm. Up to his shoulder. His neck. A gentle stroke across the scar there. To his jaw, stubble scraping against soft leather. Knuckles bumped against the oxygen mask. Clunky and ugly. It had to go. There, much better. His Sniper could go without it for a couple of minutes. Pity his eyes were closed. Such strange eyes. Unique though. Special.

He didn't touch the scar. Avoided that entire side of his Sniper's face. What an ugly thing. He still hadn't forgiven his Sniper for that. But still, it marked him; marked him as the Spy's. No one else would ever want him now, not with that great ugly slash down his face.

The Spy watched his Sniper's eyes move behind his eyelids. Sweet dreams or nightmares? Did he have any idea his Spy was right here beside him?

His Sniper made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat. His lashes fluttered. The Spy snatched his hand away from the Sniper's face like a naughty child caught stealing sweets. His Sniper didn't wake, but he took a deep, wheezing breath and then another, as though his lungs had just stopped working. His fingers twitched at his sides, arm muscles tensing. The beeping of the monitors grew faster, his heart rate increasing.

The Spy fumbled for the oxygen mask. He tugged it back into place as quickly as he could, fighting panic. As soon as it was on, he stepped away. Not touching the Sniper. Not interfering. It was fine. Everything was back to normal. His Sniper would be fine.

Gradually, Sniper's breathing and heart rate settled back down again. Relief flooded through the Spy. He stepped back next to his Sniper, grabbing hold of his hand and squeezing tight.

'Don't scare me like that again!' he muttered, increasing his grip. He'd been worried for a moment there. So worried. Look what this stupid man did to him.

The door swung open behind him.

'Spy!'

The Spy started. The Medic and Heavy were framed in the doorway. He cloaked and turned to run. There was a tray of scalpels and scissors and medical gauze right behind him. The Spy sent it crashing to the ground in his hurry to escape.

'Spy!' Medic shouted again, this time louder, the word full of rage.

There were two sets of doors out of the infirmary; they couldn't block them both. Throwing dignity aside, the Spy sprinted out of the far exit, doors bouncing off the walls as he charged through them.

His cloak flickered out. He couldn't risk stopping.

'After him!' the Medic yelled.

If any of the other REDs managed to block him off he might be in trouble. The whole lot of them were rather angry at the BLUs right now, after all.

No one blocked him. The Spy heard another cry of alarm and more footsteps down the corridor behind him but he didn't bother looking around. The Spy shot out the exit and through the courtyard, then flattened himself against an outside wall. Adrenaline pumped through him, heart racing but he forced himself to stay still. He needed to let the cloak recharge. Then he'd sneak off back to his base.

But if the REDs thought they could keep him from his Sniper, they had another thing coming.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the boyfriend for proofreading and naming this chapter :)


	44. Obsessive Compulsive Observation Discorder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! We've got four new pieces of for the fic! Three were by [Leoleoteterev](http://leoleoteterev.tumblr.com/) and can be found scattered through the fic or on my fan art blog [here](http://foeyayfanart.tumblr.com/), which is also where you can see some art by [Teamfortress2islove](http://teamfortress2islove.tumblr.com/post/158065196933/made-by-me-for-iloveteamfortresstoo-foeyayfanart)!
> 
> I did this chapter's art [here](http://iloveteamfortresstoo.tumblr.com/post/147954570684/heres-my-attempt-at-replicating-naths-painting) myself seven months ago. Took me a long time to get to the point where it was relevant!

Next day's match was even duller than the last. No Sniper. The Spy should feel more relieved to know his Sniper was all right but without that added mystery to keep him going, things were more boring than ever.

All the same, he forced himself to wait a few hours after the match before heading over to the RED base. It was early hours of the morning thanks to how late the matches at Doublecross ended. Why they couldn't ever just do normal working hours, the Spy didn't know.

No one was awake so far as the Spy could see. He'd have his Sniper all to himself.

He found the infirmary door locked. Not a surprise. How long it took him to break in was though. Either he was getting rusty or that had been a damn good lock. Probably the latter; the Spy didn't need to practice to be great at everything he did. It was just natural talent.

Sniper didn't look as bad today. His breathing was still raspy but not as obviously laboured. About half of the bandages had been removed, showing injuries that were healing. The scrapes and scratches he could see didn't seem to match up with the injuries the BLUs had given him though. It took the Spy a couple of minutes to work out they must have been caused by the Sniper's being kicked about on rough concrete. Poor thing.

The Spy stroked the back of his hand down his Sniper's cheek, avoiding the oxygen mask. He wasn't going to touch that; he'd learnt his lesson last time.

Sniper really needed a shave. The thought of doing it for him, of running a sharp blade across his Sniper's jaw and throat, was thrilling. It wouldn't be the same with his Sniper unconscious though. His Sniper would have to be awake, eyes wide, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously, the blade inches from slitting his throat at all times. The Spy could give him a little nick with the blade anytime he tried to move or protest. Yes, that would be fun. Another time, perhaps.

The Spy's hand drifted up towards one of his Sniper's sideburns. At least he'd kept those when he got his haircut. They suited him more than they had any right to. The Spy's hand rose higher, carding fingers through his Sniper's hair. Sniper made a soft sound in the back of his throat. The Spy paused. When Sniper's eyes remained closed, he started stroking his hair again, imagining how pleasant it would feel to have Sniper's fingers scratch lightly against his scalp instead. The Spy stopped, frowning to himself. As if he'd ever take his mask off in front of a RED. He had his own scars to hide.

The Spy sighed. It just wasn't the same with his Sniper asleep. He imagined the glares he'd be getting if Sniper was awake right now but unable to stop the Spy from touching him. His Sniper could be a real feisty one. He missed their fights on the battlefield already. The Spy would never let his Sniper know how close to winning he'd come in so many of their little scraps. That was where the fun lay. The Spy could be certain he'd win the majority of the fights; they were stacked in his favour after all, what with him being able to pick the time and place. But there was always that edge of uncertainty. That heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping uncertainty. Fighting with his Sniper was almost as much of a rush as he imagined the other things he'd like to do with him would be.

But no fighting now. The Spy was here to watch over him. His own personal guardian angel.

Sniper murmured in his sleep. Whatever it was was lost to sleep and to the oxygen mask but it reminded the Spy of something. He wanted to be here when his Sniper awoke, but it was best that it wasn't _him._

The Spy pulled out his disguise kit. Who to choose? Pyro? No, waking up to find that monstrosity at your bedside wouldn't be good for anyone. Scout? Too yappy. To obnoxious Engineer? Too grumpy. More interested in machines than people. Soldier? No, too loud. Too American. Heavy? He'd rarely seen the two of them interact; he didn't know if they got on. Demoman? A possibility. They seemed to be friends. He'd have needed to bring a bottle of alcohol along to be convincing though. Spy? He rejected that idea at once. Him and Sniper appeared to get on _too_ well. He wasn't going to allow his Sniper to think Antoine was the one waiting there by his bedside for him.

Medic then. It was the option that made the most sense, given the context and setting. However, it was the most risky. The real Medic could choose to check up on his patient anytime during the night, and if he did, no amount of clever lies or excuses would be enough for the Spy to convince the Medic that his exact double had any good reason to be in the room.

The Spy-as-Medic pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down facing his Sniper. He wished he could wake his Sniper up. The Spy poked Sniper's leg. Nothing. He took hold of his knee and shook slightly. Still nothing. The Spy sighed. He'd just have to wait. He let his thoughts wander as the minutes ticked by, marked only by the steady beep of the heart monitor. How could he use this situation to his advantage? How could he get his Sniper to understand how much the Spy had done for him? Mercy killing him. Checking up on him. Risking punishment and a nasty death and the hands of the REDs to be here. For him.

But as hard as he tried, the Spy couldn't think of a way of putting, 'I came and held your hand and stroked your hair,' in a way that didn't give away too much of himself. Leave him too vulnerable.

The Spy sighed again. RED Sniper was a mess, but so was he. It was just easier to hide. Except he couldn't be hiding it too well if he kept coming back here. The Spy found himself wondering how this would all end. A pointless worry. It could only end one way. He just hadn't worked out exactly how he was going to get the Sniper to be his.

If the Spy was being honest with himself, and that was a very difficult thing for him to be, there was a chance he might have slightly messed things up in his earlier encounters with the RED Sniper. Laughing at him first time they met. Scarring his face. Kissing and groping him. All that murder. It had been fun, but somehow it had yet to get the Sniper into his bed.

Maybe, just maybe, he should have taken a different approach. He could be charming when he wanted to. Charming like the handsome tom cat that came winding around your legs, asking for food when all he was really interested in was that pretty queen in heat of yours. If he'd flirted a little with the Sniper, acted impressed and intimidated by his skills, perhaps that would have moved things in a more satisfying direction. Then again, he hadn't known Sniper liked men then. And by the time he did, he'd already rather chewed his Sniper up and spat him back out again. Not the best way to play with his toys, he had to admit.

But nevermind. The past was in the past and all the Spy had to do know was work out how to use the present and the future to get himself the happy ending he wanted.

His Sniper really was handsome, even when asleep and bandaged. Maybe even more so now: the tall, broad-shouldered man cut down to size. His lankiness hidden under sheets, his face calm. Still needed a shave though.

There was so much more about this man that the Spy knew nothing about though. He was currently waiting on a contact to get back to him with some much-desired new information. The man had promised big and said it has something to do with a past partner but refused to give away anything more. Infuriating man. The Spy really had to get around to killing him one of these days, work permitting.

He had his uses though, even the Spy couldn't deny that.

Sniper made a little noise in the back of his throat. The Spy's eyes snapped to his face, alert. The oxygen mask was still on, still working. His Sniper was all right, right?

Sniper shook his head slightly, frowning in his sleep. He looked like he was in pain. He made another sound, like someone grumpily responding to being woken up too early. His eyelids fluttered. And then cracked open.

The Spy held his breath. Sniper looked at his blearily. Confusion flickered across his pale face. 'N—no,' he rasped, shaking his head again.

'Shh-shh-shh,' the Spy-as-Medic said, trying to sooth him.

'No no no!' His Sniper seemed even more distressed than ever, his eyes unfocused and the heart monitor spiking next to him.

The Spy reached out and took his hand, murmuring reassurances that didn't appear to register with his Sniper. The Spy rubbed his thumb in soothing circles across his Sniper's knuckles.'Shh-shh, it's okay, it's okay. You're all right. Nothings going to hurt you here.' It didn't occur to the Spy what an odd thing that was to tell an adult mercenary. He also missed the irony of him being the one to say it.

Sniper turned away, eyes screwed shut, bruised chest rising and falling in stutters. The Spy didn't let go. 'It's okay, it's okay,' he repeated. Gradually his Sniper's heart and breathing rates settled down as he fell back to sleep.

The Spy still didn't let go and wouldn't do until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps an hour or so later.

He cloaked as the real Medic entered and slipped away before the door to the infirmary could swing shut again.

He'd be back. Tomorrow he'd be back.

 

It was with a mixture of disappointment and relief that the Spy found his Sniper awake the next day. He'd been wanting to be the one there for him when he woke up. Without the Spy, it might have been Antoine or Medic or some other RED that welcomed him back to the world of the living. If anyone had bothered being there for him at all, that was.

The Spy had to wait until everyone had got to bed before he risked sneaking back in. His Sniper was sadly fast asleep again by then, but looking much better. There was colour back in his cheeks and the smell of eucalyptus hung much more heavily in the air than before. He couldn't tell for sure but the Spy thought his Sniper might actually come out of this all right. He'd be okay. The Spy was sure of it.

Relief washed over him, which the Spy immediately rejected as a ridiculous thing to feel. This was just an enemy Sniper. Just a Sniper. Just his Sniper. His. It hadn't been until the threat of losing Sniper hung over his head that the Spy had to force himself to accept that this scruffy, lanky man was...important in some way. To him. The Spy hated it. It was too vulnerable a thing. A weakness to be exposed and manipulated.

The Spy was so deep in thought that he didn't register his Sniper stirring until he made a questioning little, 'Mrrr' noise. The Spy started, distracted. Sniper didn't look fully conscious yet, not really. As much as the Spy wanted his attention, it was best he got more sleep. 'Go back to sleep, Sniper,' he said with Medic's voice, squeezing his wrist lightly. He hoped his Sniper missed the slightly fervent look there must be in his eyes as it occurred to him how thrilling it would be to pin both of his Sniper's wrists to the bed.

But this was neither the time nor the place for that. His Sniper closed his eyes again and drifted away once more.

The Spy wanted to kiss him. Desperately, hungrily, with questing tongues and bitten lips and dazzling, frantic heat between them.

But he couldn't have that. At least, not now.

He considered kissing his Sniper now anyway, for all that it would be one-sided. He reached out a hand towards the oxygen mask and then hesitated.

No.

He'd learnt his lesson the first time. Sniper needed that on. The Spy shifted away again. He didn't stay long this time, his own thoughts leaving him too restless and unsatisfied to linger here.

 

On Friday the Spy stayed away just to prove to himself he could. On Saturday though, he couldn't resist any longer. He headed over during the evening and made sure to keep a close eye out for any sign of activity before he headed into the infirmary. Through the window he could see his Sniper sitting up in bed, propped up by numerous pillows. He looked much better now with, all the monitors and breathing equipment pushed away from his bed now. The metal trolleys that would usually be used for wheeling Medic's supplies about had been commandeered for what looked like paints and pencil crayons. Sniper himself had something, a canvas, the Spy thought, lying against his knees. The look of intense concentration on his face suggested he was working on something. The Spy had never watched his Sniper draw before. He immediately found himself itching to head inside but forced himself to wait.

The Demoman came and paid Sniper a visit. The Spy huffed and shifted on his feet as they talked. Eventually the Demoman left, leaving behind a can of beer as a gift. A can of beer. That man had no taste.

The Spy waited another five impatient minutes before heading in, his heart beating faster than normal, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

His Sniper looked up as he entered the infirmary and smiled at him. Actually smiled. At him. The Spy's breath caught in the back of his throat.

'Hia, Medic! Back again?'

Oh. Yes, not at him, but at 'Medic.'

'Yes, there was just something I came back for,' the Spy lied. He used the excuse to draw closer to his Sniper and peer at his canvas. Sniper's arms shifted slightly, as though to hide it.

'Not shy, are you, Sniper?' the Spy teased.

Sniper shrugged. 'Just feels weird when people watch me doing anything arty to be honest.'

The Spy nodded but kept looking. What did he care if his Sniper thought Medic was being rude? It was the least the Medic deserved for spending so much time with his Sniper. Time the Spy could have been there instead.

'Bit pink, isn't it?' the Spy asked, gesturing to the painting. It was of a stag's head painted with a full spectrum of colours, starting with pink that moved into red and then orange down one antler, moved into yellow and green for the head and then swept up into blue, purple and back to pink up the opposite antler. Either by design or by accident the paint had ran liberally down the canvas in places, lending a slight surreal edge to the drawing.

Sniper hunched his shoulders up protectively. 'Just that bit at the top. I wanted to try out my new paints and they're brightly coloured, that's all.’

'Well, it's...very good,' the Spy said, though he knew very little about art.

'Thanks,' Sniper said, still sounding guarded.

Great, here he was wanting to have a quiet talk alone with his Sniper and the RED had to act all defensive. The art was apparently even more of a sensitive topic than he'd assumed. The Spy immediately found himself wracking his brain for ways he might be able to use this against his Sniper but none came it mind. Unless...

'Rather queer though.'

'What?' Sniper said, a flicker of fear crossing his face.

'All those rainbow colours. You don't want people thinking you’re queer, Sniper. What would the rest of the team have to say?'

Sniper stared at him, shock and hurt visible in his mismatched eyes.

It made the Spy's heart skip a beat. Good. Drive him away from the Medic. Find a way to drive him away from Antoine and Demoman and the rest of his team. Then he'd have no one else to turn to. Then he'd see who really cared.

Sniper turned his head away. 'Just, new paints. Like I said. And don't worry, I wasn't planning on showing it to anyone. I just wanted something to do.'

The only problem with the Spy's plan was it killed the conversation dead in the water. His Sniper looked hunched-up and miserable and not the slightest bit interested in talking to the Spy anymore. Damn. Despite waiting so long for him to wake up, conscious Sniper was somehow so much harder to deal with.

'Weren't you looking for something?' Sniper asked without turning back around.

The Spy-as-Medic nodded and went routing around in a random cupboard. He would have to retreat for now, but he'd be back.

 

Later that day, the real Medic entered the room. 'How are you feeling, Sniper?' he asked cheerfully.

'Fine,' Sniper grunted, not looking at him. Medic stopped. Sniper could be quiet at times and put on a grouchy face if he didn't want to be disturbed, but he'd been insisting he felt much better all week. An attempt to get Medic to let him out early, he knew. This sullen behaviour was unexpected.

'Any breathing issues? Extra discomfort? Bowel problems?' Medic insisted.

'No,' Sniper replied flatly.

As Medic moved past Sniper, he spotted the canvas propped up against the far side of Sniper's bed to dry.

'Ooh,' Medic said, adjusting his glasses as he peered down at the painting. 'Very vibrant! Wonderful use of colour.'

'That's not what you said earlier.'

'Sorry?'

'When you were in here around two o'clock.'

'Sniper. I haven't been in here since this morning.'

 


	45. Letting the Cat Out of the Bag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three updates in one month? What is this?

 

'So, you're telling me that the enemy Spy has been sneaking in here while I was unconscious and you never thought to tell me?'

Spy and Medic exchanged guilty looks. Medic had brought Spy in to help him explain, probably just so he wasn't the only one Sniper was being angry at. It was a testament to how distracted Medic must be that he didn't even criticise Spy for smoking in his medical bay.

Spy sighed around his cigarette. 'We didn't want to concern you.'

'Well I'm feeling pretty damn concerned now that I know everyone was keeping it a secret from me!'

'He didn't do you any harm,' Medic said.

'Well how the hell do you know that?'

'You're not dead,' Spy pointed out.

'But why?' Sniper said in frustration. 'Why has he been coming here if he didn't want to off me? That bastard's not exactly the caring type, you know.'

'We suspect he may feel...responsible in some way,' Medic said.

Sniper snorted. Didn't sound like the BLU Spy he knew. 'What the hell for? He wasn't involved in anyway!'

'Oh,' Spy said. 'We thought you knew.'

'Knew what?'

'That he was the one to kill you.'

Sniper shook his head. 'Wasn't even there. Pretty damn sure he was the only BLU I didn't see that evening.'

'He was there, whether you saw him or not,' Spy insisted. 'He shot you through the head, killing you instantly.'

Sniper shook his head. No, nothing like that had happened. Except...no one ever remembered the last few seconds before they went through respawn. Sniper had assumed that he'd died from shock or something when... 'Their Medic tried to take my eyes out,' Sniper said, looking down at his calloused hands instead of his teammates. He hadn't told anybody that. The memory was too raw, too sickening.

'Yes, I thought something like that must have happened,' Medic admitted. 'Sometimes you'd talk in your sleep about it, telling him not to do it.'

More likely shouted and begged, Sniper suspected.

'So the BLU Spy mercy-killed me?'

'Yes, we think so.'

That was odd and disconcerting in a way. Sniper was glad he hadn't had to live through having his eyeballs gouged out of his skull but why the BLU Spy of all people? Sniper would have thought he'd have wanted a front row seat to something like that. He seemed like the kind of guy who would have brought along his own popcorn, not put Sniper out of his misery. And on top of that, the Spy had been in here at least twice (and probably many more times than that) yet he hadn't stabbed Sniper even once. It was strange. Out of character. Out of place. Sniper didn't know how to deal with a dangerous Spy that was choosing not to be a danger to him anymore. It wasn't how things were meant to go.

'Still, why?' Sniper pressed. 'Why is he coming in here and not knifing me in my sleep? What was he doing when you caught him, Medic?'

'He was just by your bed, looking at you while you slept.'

'Urgh,' Sniper muttered.

'If he was doing anything more I didn't have chance to find out before he ran for it. But when I came back to check up on you, nothing had been disturbed, not even the machinery. What was he doing when he was disguised as me?'

'Nothing really,' Sniper said with a puzzled frown, trying to remember if there was anything significant in the Spy-as-Medic's actions. 'He took something from one of your cupboards though, saying that he'd forgotten something.'

'Which cupboard?' Medic asked quickly.

'Uh, that one, I think,' Sniper said, pointing.

Medic went over and tugged the cupboard door open. 'Let's see, let's see. Ah, I think some codeine's missing.'

'What's that?'

'A painkiller. Not the type I'd go handing out for a bump or scrape but not the especially powerful stuff either. I don't think he could have come in here looking for anything specific or he'd probably have taken one of the really strong ones in here. What else did he do?'

'Just talked, really.'

'Said something about your painting?'

'Yeah. Didn't like the colours. Just being a bastard to wind me up though, nothing important.' He left out the bit about Spy calling his use of all the colours 'queer' because he knew he wouldn't be able to look in Spy's direction for a while if he did.

'So he came in here disguised as me just to insult you?' Medic asked.

'Looks like it. I still don't get it.'

'I have a theory,' Spy said.

'Yeah?' Sniper was glad someone did because he didn't have a clue.

'Remember what I told you, Sniper, about the BLU's crippling fear of permanence?'

Medic raised an eyebrow. Clearly this was news to him.

'Yeah?'

'I think it's linked to that. It's clear to everyone that he enjoys...harassing you most out of all of us. It's like a game for him. Harmless because the harm he does never sticks.'

'He still pressure-pointed me,' Sniper pointed out.

'Yes, but he has complete control over that. He's the only person who can use it against you. Then Saturday evening happens, he arrives in that alleyway to find you bruised and bloody.'

If only it had just been that.

'This is something he has no control over at all. His team don't think much of him what I've seen; if he told them to stop, they wouldn't have. Especially if it was their Medic. So you go in one moment from being his little plaything he has complete control over—'

'I'm not his “plaything!” And that asshole's got no control over me.'

'What is real and what is real in the BLU Spy's head are two very different things,' Spy explained. 'This is all from his point of view, or as close as I can get.

'So, as I was saying. He's suddenly lost control. He takes it back in the only way he can, by shooting you dead. Maybe he does it partly out of the kindness of his own heart but I'd be surprised if he even has one. Then, you're stuck in respawn. You don't turn up for the next match. Suddenly he's faced with permanence again except this time it might be his fault, because he's the one who actually killed you. I highly doubt he would ever actually put the blame on himself; it's in his nature to place it everywhere but on his own doorstop, but I suspect that subconsciously there will have been something there. Maybe guilt, maybe worry, maybe something else entirely. But something all the same. So he has to come and see you. He has to come and make sure his actions haven't led to any permanent damage. That's why I think he's been in here but done no real harm, because he's checking that no real harm has come to you.'

'Okay,' Sniper said, though the explanation didn't entirely make sense to him. Maybe it was because he was tired. He was always tired these days.

Spy's talk about permanence had Sniper thinking about it. Medic had said it was still hard to say exactly what damage there was that wouldn't heal up entirely. A couple of obvious ones though. Sniper had used to have noticeable sharp canines, now the one on the left was notably chipped. Just what Sniper needed, another thing to make his face look even more asymmetrical. He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing that it was on the opposite side to his scar.

The other thing was a faint collection of scars that had healed up as much as they were going to on his right arm from where he got nasty gravel burns during the attack. He was pretty sure there were actually still a couple of bits of gravel embedded under his skin.

'Do you think he'll go back to normal once I'm back on the field?' Sniper asked. He couldn't work out if he would be glad of it or not. The Spy's current behaviour was incredibly creepy but Sniper's encounters with him before then had all been so painful...

'Hmm, I'm afraid I can't say for sure but I suspect he might once he sees you're fit and healthy again.'

'I wish he'd just fuck off.'

'So do I,' Medic agreed.

'Rest assured, I will be having words with the Administrator about him coming here next time I speak to her,' Spy said.

 

When the two of them left, Sniper couldn't decide if he felt more or less reassured about the whole situation than when they'd arrived. At least he knew what was going on now, even if he was still struggling to understand it. What was that Spy's obsession with him? Sniper had never asked for it. He'd never wanted it.

The rest of the day was a boring one. Heavy came to visit him to see how he was getting on with the much-thumbed copy of War and Peace he'd leant Sniper. Sniper had to try and explain without making himself sound like an illiterate idiot that he'd tried but he actually couldn't really read without tinted glasses. He wasn't sure if he succeeded.

Demoman dropped in too but for all his noise and bravado, he had a good eye for spotting when Sniper was tired of company and left him to it after a short while. Sniper often found people exhausting even on a good day, and so far since the attack, he hadn't had any of those. His antisocial behaviour was now also compounded by the fact that anytime someone walked in through the door, they might be the BLU Spy in disguise. That didn't exactly encourage the flow of conversation or make Sniper want to spend much time alone with anyone.

He was tired a lot too and took to napping more than normal. Medic had told him not to worry about it much when he'd brought it up. Sleep was good for healing.

While he slept, Sniper had a dream that he was exploring the forest beyond the base. It was a pleasant dream. In it, he was fine. No tiredness, no fear, no odd moments when his heart thumped hard in his chest for no apparent reason at all. Just Sniper and nature. It was beautiful. Serene.

The sound of an engine in the distance caught his ear. He looked around wildly. How could any vehicle be out here in the middle of a trackless forest? The sound was getting closer. Something heavy weighed down on Sniper's chest. Down and down and down. He spun around.

Where? Where was that sound coming from?

Sniper opened his eyes.

Two eyes stared back at him from on top of his chest, amber coloured with slitted pupils.

'Cat?' Sniper muttered sleepily, the dream already forgotten.

'Ow?' she replied.

Sniper reached up a hand and stroked her absent-mindedly. The cat blinked slowly at him and began to purr even more loudly, the vibrations travelling through Sniper's chest. 'What you doing here he asked? How did you get in?'

'Someone left the door open,' Medic said, disapprovingly. 'Who was the last person in here?'

'Might have been Demo. I've been asleep though so if anyone else has been in, I wouldn't know.' That was the worry. 'Got up to anything interesting today, Medic?'

'No, just the same old, really,' Medic said with a shake of his head.

Sniper stiffened. It was a good thing he wasn't hooked up the the heart monitor anymore or it would have spiked.

That wasn't the right answer. That wasn't the reply he'd expected to receive. Everyone on his team should know by now to reply with, 'Oh, just a bit of this and that.'

Which meant that the Medic frowning at him right now wasn't the Medic at all.

'Are you all right, Sniper?' he asked, clearly noticing Sniper's reaction.

'Ah, yeah. Cat just dug one of her claws in, that's all.'

'Horrible thing. Here, let me get rid of the fleabag.'

'No! No. She's fine, really. It was just an accident.' Sniper didn't want the Spy any closer and he definitely didn't want him to get his hands on either himself or the cat. Besides, the cat somehow felt like a barrier. Something he could keep between them.

Sniper attempted to pull himself up into a sitting position. He felt too vulnerable flat on his back with the man who must be the BLU Spy alone in the room with him.

'Ow.'

'Sorry,' Sniper muttered to the cat as he dislodged her from his chest and resettled her on his lap. As soon as he was done fidgeting and was sat up straight, the cat curled back up again as though she'd never been disturbed.

'She's probably covered in fleas,' Spy-as-Medic complained.

'Oh yeah, probably,' Sniper said. 'That must be why I've been scratching.' He wanted to put the Spy off coming any closer. It didn't work. The Spy sidled up to his bedside, Sniper frantically trying to come up with a way to get rid of him. They hadn't planned this far ahead. Demoman had joked about getting Engineer to install a panic button but no actual procedure had been set in place as to what to do if the Spy actually made an appearance.

'What yah doing?' Sniper asked as the Spy reached for his arm, trying his best not to flinch away. He wished he still had his hat and glasses to help hide his face. He felt far too exposed without them.

'Checking your pulse,' the Spy said, pulling down his sleeve.

'What for?'

'Any abnormalities.' Bullshit.

'With your gloves on still?'

'I can still feel your pulse with them on.' More bullshit.

'With your thumb?'

'Ah, silly me! I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on!' It had a few screws loose if you asked Sniper.

He snatched his arm back as soon as he got the chance. He returned to stroking the cat as though not at all bothered to have the Spy-as-Medic in the room with him.

Sniper's back itched. Right between the shoulder blades. At least in his current position his back was out of reach. If he tried to get up, that would no longer be the case.

What could he do? What could he do?

Calling the Spy out on it was no good. At least while pretending to be Medic he had to act civil. If Sniper gave away he knew, all bets would be off and he had no idea how the Spy might react. It was unlikely that he would admit defeat and retire with grace. Sniper was sure that things couldn't possibly end well for him if he gave the game away.

He wasn't in a fit state to defend himself. He knew it and so did the Spy. Sniper cast about for something to use as a weapon, just in case. Nothing, not unless he smashed the canvas over the Spy's head like something out of a cartoon sketch. Why couldn't the RED Medic be more like his BLU equivalent probably was and have scalpels lying about the place?

'There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Sniper.'

'Yeah?' Sniper said, trying to sound more curious than wary but probably failing.

'Well, you know the BLU Spy?'

Sniper's eyes flickered from the cat to the Spy and back again. 'Yeah?' he said, more wary than ever.

'I've been thinking about that BLU and it's occurred to me that in an odd way, you kind of owe him.'

'Oh?' Sniper said flatly. Inside, he was seething. Did the Spy really think this would work? Did he really think there was anything he could say in the guise of a teammate that would make Sniper go, 'Oh, you know what, maybe the BLU bastard who's fucked me over a hundred times just for the fun of it isn't so bad after all'?

'Yes, he is the one who got you out of that awful situation.'

'By shooting me.' Sniper struggled to work out how he should handle this turn of events. Maybe if he was rude about the Spy, the BLU would get the hint and stop pursuing him. But most likely it would just leave the Spy wanting revenge. But Sniper couldn't bring himself to say even one nice word about the guy. Especially when it might encourage him.

'What other way would there have been?'

Sniper shrugged. He didn't know. A way of diverting this conversation finally occurred to him, like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds to shine on him.

'Pity the day ended that way. I was having a great time until then. Met a really nice lady actually.'

'Oh?' Medic said. Sniper hoped there was a touch of jealousy hiding under that polite interest.

'Yes,' Sniper said enthusiastically, scrambling for a way to turn his encounter with the nice, if rather dumpy, middle-aged lady in the art shop into something to make the BLU Spy seethe. He wasn’t a very good liar, so the closer he could stick to the truth, the better. 'Ended up hanging out with her for ages talking over coffee. Never expected to bump into anyone I had so much in common with in town, let alone a lady.'

'She single?' the Spy asked, making a show of checking over some dials on the nearest medigun. Sniper shrugged. 'Can't say she ever mentioned a husband. And can't say I'm going to be the one asking next time we meet up.'

'So you're seeing each other again?'

'Oh yes. I promised her I'd bring her an example of my art next time I get chance. That's who I've been doing this canvas for.'

'It's...a pity there's no one around for you closer to home. Town's a distance away.'

'Oh no, not if you're from Australia, mate! Seems like no time at all for me. Besides, it's the nearest bit of civilisation we've got. Where else would I look?'

The Spy made a non-committal noise that could have meant anything, his lips pressed flat together.

'I mean,' Sniper said, forcing a joking edge into his voice, 'the rest of the team are all great blokes and all, but they're not my type!'

 _Go on then,_ Sniper thought, tickling the cat under the chin and ignoring the Spy. _Go and try and find a way to mention yourself._

'The BLU Spy—'

'Hah!' Sniper barked out a laugh. He looked up at the Spy, eyebrows raised and a cheeky grin fixed in place. 'No, Medic, can't say I'm looking to be “backstabbed”!'

'No!' the Spy snapped, scowling. 'I wasn't talking about that, I was—I was just—'

'Look, Medic, if you've got a thing for French frogs, I promise I won't say anything! I'll judge, oh I'll judge, but I won't say a word to Spy!'

'No,' the Spy insisted again. 'I was just moving our conversation back to—'

'Ouch!' Sniper interrupted. 'The cat's kneading me. No, girl, that is not the kind of place I want your claws digging in.' The kneading was real, but not the pain or location. Sniper made a fuss of rearranging the cat.

'I told you I could get rid of it for you,' the Spy said, leaving the medigun alone and stepping up beside his bed again.

'Well I don't want you to,' Sniper insisted, putting his hands over the cat protectively.

'Ow,' she agreed.

Irritation passed across Spy-as-Medic's face, clear enough for even Sniper to catch it. It made him feel rather smug. This conversation clearly hadn't gone the way the Spy wanted it to.

The extra time messing around with the cat had given Sniper enough time to think of a possible way to get rid of the Spy.

'Hey, uh, did Heavy managed to find you in the end?'

'Heavy? Oh. Yes, he did.'

'Oh, good! He said he'd head back in here after he'd had a word with you to talk about his book,' Sniper said, pointing a thumb at the copy of War and Peace on the bedside table.

'Oh. Well. That's good. Good because you'll have some company.'

'Why, do you have to go?'

'Ah, yes. Sorry. I'll see you later, Sniper.'

'See yah, Medic!' He waved as the Spy hurried out the door. As soon as he was out of sight, Sniper let his hand drop and let out a sigh of relief. His heart was pounding in his chest, slight tremors running through his arms that he'd tried to hide by stroking the cat.

'One to me,' Sniper muttered under his breath, a slight smile spreading across his face. It was just a pity the Spy didn't know that he'd lost.

 

Spy cloaked as soon as he was out of sight and crept out of the base, fuming.

That man. That damn man.

His—the Sniper hadn't acted right at all. The Spy had thought that if only they had some proper time to talk, he might have a chance of creating a connection. Not between Medic and Sniper, no, that wouldn't do. But by planting the right suggestions in the Sniper's head, he was sure he could have planted the seeds he needed to bring everything to fruition at a later date.

Instead his Sniper had mocked him. His Sniper had laughed at the idea of anyone liking him. The Spy slunk off with his tail between his legs back to his base, embarrassed and hurt.

This wouldn't be the end of them though. He wouldn't let it be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my foeyayfanart blog or chapter 25 of the fic for even more awesome art by Leoleoteterev!


	46. Rehabilitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [Tiny-Freakin-Head](https://tiny-freakin-head.tumblr.com/) for the art this time around!

 

Sunday was a good day. Or at least, the best day he'd had all week. Sniper had told Spy and Medic what had happened the day before so they'd already got the panic out of their systems and a panic button in place. If the Spy came back, he could press it and they'd come running, armed to the teeth.

Not that he'd likely need it. On Sunday Medic allowed him to leave the medical wing. He had to return there for regular check-ups but apart from that he was allowed to roam free.

It felt odd moving around the base again, especially now he seemed to have aged forty or so years and was walking with an old man's limp. Half the team were being too nice to him, the other half ribbing him and joking with him about the whole thing. Sniper knew which he liked most. The sooner things returned to normal though, the better.

But it didn't look as though that would be for a while yet, at least where Sniper's health was concerned. He fobbed Medic off at every turn, fed-up of being poked and prodded and asked how he felt.

'I'm fine, I'm fine,' he insisted every time. But he wasn't.

It was the odd, fluttery moments of panic that bothered him more than the aches and pains. He'd be talking to Demo or playing snooker with Soldier or relaxing on a chair and then suddenly his heart would start to beat fast in his chest as the urge to lash out or run away welled up for apparently no reason. It was annoying. And worse than that, it was worrying. Was there something wrong with his heart? With his adrenal glands? With his brain?

The mouth ulcers were annoying too. He'd had two or three of those since he'd woken up. He'd had cuts in his mouth from where he'd been punched though, so to begin with he hadn't thought much of it. It was just that one hadn't ever gone away and another couple had joined it.

His head and chest hurt as well but those too he put down to the injuries he was still recovering from. Sniper just wished they'd hurry up.

But still, it was a good day. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of good natured threats and a lot of swearing. This was down to Demoman's new game. It didn't have an official name but if Sniper thought of it as something like, 'The straight man's butt-slapping game.'

This was due to the great amusement Demoman (and most of the rest of the team, when it wasn't them) got from Demo smacking any RED who passed by too close on the ass. The 'straight man' bit came from the fact that only a man entirely comfortable in his heterosexuality could possibly get away with publicly touching other men's butts at random intervals. Sniper certainly wasn't going to give it a go.

The most amusing response so far (and the one that had made Sniper laugh so much he cried) was Spy's. He'd jumped straight in the air with a high-pitched yelp, his cigarette flying halfway down the corridor, followed by a stream of irate French curses.

Pyro's reaction had been unnerving though. They'd just slowly turned turned around to stare at Demoman, loud breathing filtering through their gas mask. Just as Demoman had started to back away, Pyro had reached up and patted him on the shoulder and then bustled away to do whatever Pyros did with their days.

Soldier was, by Sniper's reckoning, was far too into it. He'd turned around with a huge grin under his over-sized helmet, happily announced that he liked to see a healthy bit of male bonding in the military and responded with a slap to both Sniper and Demo's butts, something that Sniper tried to avoid it with a mad wiggle to the side but was wholly unsuccessful. Demoman then spent the next ten minutes or so reenacting Sniper’s reaction for his own amusement.

Engineer must have been warned about it because when Demoman tried to sneak up to him while he worked on dismantling an old car engine, he raised his wrench threateningly and said without looking around, 'Don't you even think about it, boy.' Demoman retreated in defeat. For now.

Demoman had already got Scout. Twice. Apparently that's where it had all started this morning, when whatever conversation he'd been having at the time led to Scout saying, 'When you see a guy slap another guy on the back, isn't that kind of queer?' Demoman, who'd been walking behind him at the time, had decided to take this a step further. And a little bit lower.

Now when Scout saw Demoman enter the rec room he immediately flattened his back to the far wall and edged along it, hands placed protectively on his posterior. He glared daggers at Demoman, muttering slurs under his breath. Sniper might have been offended if Scout didn't look so stupid.

'Hey, what you laughing at?' Scout asked him with a glower.

'Oh, nothing,' Sniper said cheerfully. 'I just came in here to see how your tattoo is doing,'

'Oh. Okay.' He glanced suspiciously at Demoman, who could have won the world's most unconvincing innocent expression competition. Scout unglued his back from the wall and his hands from his butt and stepped carefully closer, taking a wide curving route to keep himself as far away from Demo as possible.

'You think you'll be up for working on it a bit more soon?' Scout asked hopefully. 'I mean, you were kind of really roughed up and shit back there. If you can't, that's fine.'

'Next weekend,' Sniper assured him, not wanting to bite off more than he could chew. Just walking around with Demo has been tiring enough after a week bedbound and his hands were still a little shaky.

Scout pulled up the back of his shirt. Sniper tugged it a little higher, avoiding touching skin. The tattoo looked good. The puffiness had gone down, everything seemed nice and clean And neither the medigun nor respawn appeared to have undone any of his hard work.

'Hey, if slapping someone on the back is “queer” then what's letting a guy get his hands all over you to do a tattoo?' Sniper asked, letting go on the shirt.

'Well, uh, that's different,' Scout said, but apparently couldn't work out an explanation as to why.

A moment later, Scout twisted out of reach with an angry squawk and dived behind the snooker table. 'Damn!' Demo said from behind where Scout had been a moment ago.. 'He's a fast little bugger.'

'Ahuh,' Sniper agreed, taking a small step back from Demoman. Though they appeared to be allies in this game, Demoman had introduced him to it by swatting his ass first and explaining afterwards and Sniper wasn't sure he fully trusted Demo yet.

_Slap!_

Demoman jumped straight up in the air with a strangled cry of surprise.

Heavy burst out laughing as Demo turned around to face him and Sniper couldn't help but join in.

'That is for slapping doctor,' Heavy told him, looking smug. 'I have revenged him.'

'Jesus-fucking-Christ!' Demoman said. 'I think my great-great grandchildren will be feeling that one. You're one hell of a slapper!'

'Thank you,' Heavy said humbly.

'Where the hell did you even come from?'

'Behind you.'

'Christ. Didn't know you could be that sneaky, mate!'

Heavy nodded happily.

'What did Medic do when you slapped his butt?'

'Screamed like little girl,' Heavy answered for Demo.

'Then threatened to cut my arms off and sew them to my arse,' Demo added.

'One to each cheek?' Sniper asked, curious.

'Yeah, sounds about right.'

'Is there anyone left you haven't got yet Demo?'

Demo pointed slowly towards Heavy. Heavy folded his arms. Demo slowly lowered his. 'Nope, no one.'

'Good,' Heavy said, before turning around and leaving. It may have just been Sniper's imagination or Heavy might have moved off a little quicker than normal. As though he was trying to avoid something.

Sniper decided to take a break in the rec-room after that. Partly because nobody could slap his butt if he was sitting down, and partly because he was too tired for anymore excitement. As soon as he settled down his heart began to beat in his chest, his lungs constricting. Sniper closed his eyes and forced himself to breath through it. The only other people in the room were Scout, who was busy reading a new comic in the corner, and Pyro who'd sat themselves down at the coffee table and was busy doodling something. Neither were bothering him. Neither were the enemy Spy.He was sure of it.

Sniper closed his eyes. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. Even with the worries buzzing around his head, it wasn't long before Sniper fell asleep.

He woke with a start to find Scout poking at him. 'Dude. You were snoring.'

'Well then let me snore,' Sniper grumped.

'But it's the middle of the day!' Scout argued. 'You can't sleep now.'

'And why not?' After he'd been woken up once Sniper was too self-conscious about the whole snoring thing to be able to fall asleep again. Instead, he decided to have a look at what Pyro was doing.

'What you drawing there?' he asked.

'Unicurnpth.'

'Oh. I see.'

Pyro pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and lay it on the table next to them, and passed a handful of crayons over.

'You want me to draw with you?'

'Mmpth!'

'What should I draw?'

Pyro pushed their latest creation his way and tapped it with sooty, gloved fingers.

'You want me to draw that? Well, okay then. 'Sniper plonked himself down on the carpet next to Pyro and reached for the nearest crayon.

'Uh, what you drawing there?' Scout asked, looking up from his comic a few minutes later.

'A pretty pink unicorn jumping over a rainbow,' Sniper said without looking up.

'Uh. Why?'

'Because Pyro wanted me to draw a pretty pink unicorn jumping over a rainbow..'

'Well...okay then,' Scout said, returning to his comic.

Scout made Sniper realise how tired he was of people. There was nothing wrong with any of his teammates, he’d just had enough of being stuck on base with them for a week, even if he'd had plenty of time by himself in the infirmary.

Sniper bid farewell to Scout and Pyro and made for his van. It would have been nice to go for a walk, to explore the forest surrounding the base now that he was allowed to. Sniper didn't have the energy for that though. Not today.

His art stuff was still in the infirmary but if he went to get that that'd mean another conversation with Medic about how he was doing and Sniper didn't think he could handle that right now.

He picked up a biro. They'd done for him before, they'd do again. The pen trailed over the sketchbook Spy had accidentally left behind. He tried a doodle. No, it wasn't right. Another. No. How had a fat pink unicorn done in worn-down crayon come out better than this? He started drawing again, letting his hand move without much thought. A fox formed, staring back at him. Markings like a mask formed. A dead rabbit hung from its jaw. Snipe stopped. He'd drawn this image before. The Spy.

Sniper snapped the sketchbook shut. No. That man had no place here. Sniper had no intentions of drawing him or any representations of him ever again. Sniper could just imagine the impressions that would give the deluded creep if he ever came across art of himself in one of his sketchbooks.

Nothing else would come though. Nothing else worth a damn. Maybe he should just give up on art until the shakiness in his hands went away. He'd miss it though.

With nothing better to do, Sniper dozed until dinner time. It was Demoman's turn to cook and he'd promised something good.

When he got to the kitchen, Demo waved him over. 'Sniper! Sniper! You missed it. I got another slap on Spy and he jumped so high I thought he was gonna hit the roof. Then he gasped and was like, 'Ooh la la!'

Spy, who was also in the kitchen with him, turned around. 'No I was not!' he insisted. 'And if you say that to one more person, _this_ —' he flourished a knife from inside his jacket. 'Is going up your ass.'

'Damn, Spy, never knew you were into that kind of thing,' Demo said.

'Oh, I didn't say either of us would enjoy it.'

'Are you making that weird sushi stuff again?' Sniper asked, peering over Spy's shoulder.

Both Demo and Spy's shoulders slumped.

'Oh dear.'

'We thought you liked it last time.'

'I did!' Sniper quickly assured them. 'Doesn't stop it from being weird though.'

'Fits you perfectly then, mate,' Demo said with a grin.

 

Sushi was as weird but oddly pleasant as he remembered and this time there was all round less complaining from the rest of the team, though no force on earth could stop them entirely. Sniper's favourite bit was still popping each bubbly little fish roe in his mouth one at a time. This kept him busy most of dinner, which was unhelpful when everyone kept constantly talking to him. They'd edge around asking him directly how he was but everyone still seemed to be pushing to get him to talk about himself in some capacity. It was sneaky stuff. Confusing too, for someone who wasn't used to being in the spotlight or anyone wanting to hear what he had to say. Which was probably why his answers were short and distracted, trying to direct the conversation away from himself at all times. This was his first meal back since he'd had the shit kicked out of him and he wanted to just go back to normal even if the mouth ulcers did make eating painful and the shaky hands meant chopsticks had to be avoided entirely to stop Sniper making a fool of himself.

Still, all in all dinner was good. Especially with how many suspicious glances Scout gave Demoman despite the fact everyone was sitting down.

Sniper made his excuses and retired back to his van after that. Tomorrow would be his first day back on the job so no one on the team argued for him to stay if he didn't want to, though Demoman said he was sorry to lose his favourite snooker partner.

'Like I'd do anything that would involve me bending over a table with you around right now,' Sniper pointed out. Demoman accepted that explanation too.

Back in his van, Sniper dragged out an unopened bottle of vodka from one of his cupboards. He'd won it off Heavy (who said that despite stereotypes, he wasn't actually all that fond of vodka, especially this cheap foreign stuff) in a game of darts a couple of weeks ago. It had remained unopened because Sniper really wasn't a fan either.

Tonight though, he cracked it open and used the lid to pour himself three shots. They splashed over the backs of his fingers and he licked them clean, grimacing at the taste. Didn't matter. Alcohol was alcohol and he needed...something right now. Something to distract him from the little flutters of panic that rose up in his chest every time he thought about facing the BLUs again.

Made sense though. They'd beaten the fuck out of him. He'd been completely helpless. That kind of shit was embarrassing enough to think back on, let alone run into the people who'd done it a few days later. Four out of nine of them had seen him kicked around on the ground, curled up like a little bitch. That was why the thought of going back out there bothered Sniper so much. Probably. Maybe.

He dug out a hip flask, cleaned it out, and poured some of the vodka into that too. He'd take that out onto the field tomorrow like Demo always did, except he'd do a better job of hiding it from Medic. It'd help. Probably. Maybe.

 

That night when he finally drifted off to sleep he dreamt that Michelle had stood in to replace the lady at the art shop for a day. When the Spy walked past he spotted the brightly coloured stag painting hung outside like a shop sign and entered, knife out, ready to stab the woman that was the only thing standing between him and Sniper. Sniper watched the Spy enter from a corner of the room, as though through a security camera. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch as the Spy leapt forward and plunged his knife into Michelle's chest over and over. Her mouth opened in a scream but no sound reached Sniper. He couldn't speak.

Then it was over and Michelle was in his arms now, slowly bleeding out. Her mouth moved. There was still no sound but he knew what she was saying.

'It's all your fault, Nath. You did this to me. You did this.'

Sniper sat bolt upright in bed, smacking his head on the low ceiling of his van.

'Ouch. Fuck. Fuck,' he muttered, shaking his head to try and dislodge the dream as well as the pain.

He didn't sleep much after that.

 

Sniper didn't want to get up the next morning. Didn't want to face his teammates or the enemy. He forced himself out of bed and into the cab of his van. Not the driver's seat though, but the passenger side. He opened the glove compartment, stuffingthe fistful of ancient, crumpled receipts that fell out back in again. He fished around until he found what he'd been looking for, an old pair of aviators. They were his emergency ones. To everyone else they'd probably look pretty much identical but to Sniper there was just something slightly off about them. They were the best he had though so he'd just have to force himself to get used to them. It was a pity his hat hadn't respawned with him either. He didn't have a spare one and going into a match without it felt wrong.

 

Sniper's first match back proved to be a bit of a trial. It was like being a nervous newbie again, only this time he knew the map and how nasty the BLU buggers could really be. His shaking hands and little flutters of panic made it far harder than it should be to get good, clean headshots off. More than once he lodged a bullet in a BLU's shoulders. Hopefully they thought he was giving them agonising and non-lethal wounds on purpose out of revenge. Though that explanation wouldn't stand with the two poor shots he got on the Engineer in a row.

While Sniper could usually zone in completely on his scope, forgetting about the outside world for better or for worse, today he couldn't settle down at all. It was as though there was a ghost-or more appropriately-a spook, lurking behind him at all times. No matter how often Sniper looked away from his scope though, he never spotted the Spy. Not even the times when the Spy backstabbed him. Sniper would just wake up in respawn a few minutes later with a lingering, prickling feeling down the nape of his neck.

Maybe he should be thankful of it. In a way. It saved him from actual encounters with the Spy. Both being tortured by and being forced to talk to the BLU Spy were equally unwelcome scenarios to Sniper. As well as that, there were a couple of times when the Spy saved him from a nastier death, probably without even realising he'd done so.

The first time, Sniper got too close to the action and ended up riddled with shrapnel. He would have died slowly while Medic remained in respawn thanks to the same attack. Instead, a swift, opportunistic backstab whisked Sniper away. The second time, the Pyro had spotted his hiding place and come thundering up the stairs, flamethrower drawn.

Sniper had frozen, mind blank with shock at the surprise attack. Then he'd woken up in respawn without the memory of even a lick of flame. Death by burning wasn't that quick and respawn's memory suppressors weren't that kind. The prickling sensation remained. When he got his scorecard at the end of the match he suspected it would say that a backstab had been the end of him that life. And he was right.

Why? What was the BLU's motivations? Did the Spy really think all it would take to change Sniper's attitude towards him was a couple of extra mercy kills? Did he think that would somehow make up for the great bloody slash down his face, the groping, the humiliation, the knives through his palms?

Sniper's heart beat painfully against his ribs at the thought. 'Creep,' he muttered. RED Spy, who'd just been about to leave the room after the others, looked around at him in confusion.

'Not you,' Sniper assured him. 'The other one.'

'He's not back at it again already, is he?' Spy asked, aghast.

'Oh, no! Nah, that's just my immediate reaction whenever he pops into my head.'

'Perfectly understandable,' Spy said. The walked together back out into the base, Spy quizzing Sniper about his day. Sniper fobbed him off with vague answers that bordered on lies. He liked the RED Spy, he'd just had enough of today and wanted to escape to his van for some peace and quiet.

 

He felt like a right asshole over his dismissal of Spy next morning when Spy swept into the kitchen, a box in his hands. 'Delivery for you, Sniper!' he said.

'Uh, what?' Sniper replied, as eloquent as ever. 'I didn't order anything.'

Next to him, Scout rolled his eyes. 'Just accept it, man, it's for you.'

'Oh.' Sniper wasn't sure what to think of that. He thanked Spy and took the box off him all the same.

'It arrived this morning,' Spy said as Sniper tugged the lid off.

'Oh,' Sniper said again, looking down at a brand new leather Akubra. It was the same colour as his last hat and even pinned up on the right side the way he liked it rather than on the left like they normally were. He pulled it out of the box, the pleasant smell of new, treated leather hitting him. Sniper turned it over in his hands in complete silence, studying it from every angle.

'Well come on then!' Scout said, elbowing him impatiently. 'Tell us what you think!'

'It's perfect,' Sniper said. It wasn't his old hat. It wouldn't fit right. It wasn't right. But they couldn’t have possibly found better replacement and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to wear it until he became so used to it he forgot he'd ever had another one.

'Phew,' Spy said. 'Put it on then. I had to guess the size.'

Sniper did as he was told. As expected it felt wrong, pressing a little more in places his old one hadn't. But he'd had years to wear that one in. This was shiny and new and would take some getting used to but it fitted all the same.

'Perfect,' Sniper repeated.

'Ooh, someone's pleased with themselves,' Demo said, pointing at Spy with a grin.

Spy crossed his arms. 'You're just jealous I found the right one first.'

'Yep, you got me!' Demoman agreed easily.

'Thanks, Spy,' Sniper said, toying with the brim. He was going to take good care of this one. Not let it get battered or dirty or lost in any alleyway somewhere. If he did, Spy would probably kill him for it. Call it extra motivation.

 

Despite being kitted out properly again, and with a secret supply of alcohol to calm his nerves, Sniper still had another poor match.

'Come on, Sniper, why don't yah actually kill a few of those BLUs for us today,' Engineer grouched as Sniper returned to his dispenser for the third time that day.

'The Scout just got a lucky shot on me, that's all,' he complained. 'I've taken their Heavy and Medic out since I last saw you.'

'That didn't stop them from taking our intel five minutes ago though,' Engineer pointed out.

'I'll get back to it,' Sniper assured him. He'd try his hardest. It wasn't his fault the BLUs had settled down again and after a week off their Sniper was on top form. Whereas...he wasn't.

 

His Sniper wasn't doing as well as normal, that much was clear. The Spy had been stalk – monitoring him. He missed opportunities and flunked shots like he never had before. Poor man. The Spy might have felt sorry for him if he hadn't been so rude on Saturday.

Despite that, the Spy couldn't stop himself from following his Sniper around everywhere, going over all kinds of imaginary conversations (and sometimes a bit more) between them in his head.

The Spy had always preferred to be the one to kill his Sniper but since that evening in town it had become an obsession. He couldn't stand to see him die any other way. Just couldn't stand to see his Sniper taken out by another BLU. They didn't understand. This was _his_ Sniper.

Sometimes it was unavoidable of course, the BLU Sniper would land a headshot, a stray rocket would do itswork, or he'd be trapped in respawn just when his Sniper needed him there to kill him.

Whenever it was a kill he could see coming though, he'd stop his monitoring and step in to do the job himself. It was better this way. It allowed them to be close, even if for only a moment.

 

The Spy’s behaviour continued like that for three days. Then the package he'd been waiting for from his contact arrive.

'Finally,' the Spy muttered, a gleam in his eyes as he hurried back to his room. There wasn't long until the day's match began, he'd have to be quick.

Like a delighted child on Smissmas day, the Spy tore open the packaging and tipped out the contents. Photocopied papers of all kinds fell out. Post cards, passports, bank statements, newspaper clippings, sketches, medical reports, family photographs and everything else that could gathered on a human being. Some of the papers had handwritten notes and arrows attached, more information scrawled on the back in blue ink. Sniper shifted through them until a stranger on the front of a newspaper article caught his attention. He plucked the paper free from the rest and read the headline. His eyes widened. The Spy glanced at an annotation, read the first paragraph and flipped it over to study the notes on the back.

'Oh Nathaniel,' he murmured. 'What have you done?'

This changed everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire time I've been writing this fic I've also been working on an original novel manuscript. Finally finished the first draft at 128k words. Got a long way to go before it's in a publishable state but it still feels good, man.


	47. The King of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long wait since the last update and a short chapter to show for it, sorry! It's been a very busy month or so for me. Lots going on, all of it looking good so far but it has kept me away from my hobbies. Hopefully it shouldn't be as long until the next update!
> 
> Edit: The absolutely brilliant art to go with this chapter is by Leoleoteterev. Click [here](https://leoleoteterev.tumblr.com/post/162605782660/%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D0%B0%D1%80%D1%82-%D0%BA-47-%D0%B3%D0%BB%D0%B0%D0%B2%D0%B5-%D1%84%D0%B0%D0%BD%D1%84%D0%B8%D0%BA%D0%B0-foe) for a link to the rebloggable version of it.

The next day's match went far better for Sniper. He'd decided to change things up a bit and bring his bow out for the first time in a while. That meant he had to move around more, which gave him less time for thinking. Sitting alone in a sniper nest, waiting for someone to wander out in front of him, let Sniper dwell on his problems far too much to be healthy. This way he could escape those lingering thoughts and replace them with fast thinking and adrenaline rushes.

The added bonus was that it made him a much harder target for the BLU Spy to track down, let alone kill. He died to a couple more Ambassador kills from the bastard than normal but far fewer backstabs. It made for a nice change.

Unfortunately his change in weapon didn't increase his kill score by much but it was better than nothing, though it did increase the amount of injuries he received, being out in the thick of it. At one point about halfway through the match, Demoman came stumbling over to the dispenser Sniper was leaning against. Sniper had just taken out the BLU Pyro, but not before the BLU Pyro took out both Engineer and his level three sentry with one deflect.

The way Sniper saw it, he was doing Engineer a favour, guarding his nice teleporter and dispenser set-up here, while also getting a bit of help with the buckshot in his left arm, courtesy of the enemy Scout.

He took a step away from the dispenser as Demoman came towards it, nearly bent in two, clutching at his stomach. He was shaking and making odd sounds.

'You alright there, mate?' Sniper asked, eyebrows pinched together in concern.

With apparent difficulty, Demoman dragged himself over to the dispenser and leant against it, still bent over. He slapped the metal surface, shaking, tears visibly streaming from his one good eye.

'Demo?'

Demoman took a great shuddering gulp and forced himself upright. 'Sniper,' he gasped, wiping away the tears with his sleeve.

'You—you won't believe what just—' he broke off in a gale of laughter.

Sniper gave him a bemused look, the corners of his lips twitching up at the sound.

'Are you sure you're all right?'

Demoman nodded, one hand over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter. He took a couple more deep breaths and said, 'Sniper. You should have been there, mate. You should have seen it.'

'Seen what now?' It relieved Sniper to see Demo wasn't badly hurt like he'd assumed but this was getting to be a bit much.

'Y—you know how Engie was the only one I 'adn't got yet?'

Sniper nodded. Demoman's butt slapping game had petered out a bit but he'd finally managed to get a slap on Heavy at dinner the night before. Sniper hadn't seen it but he'd been in the room next door and heard the resounding slap, roar of fury and the mad clatter of feet as Demoman dashed past the rec room at a speed that could have rivalled Scout's. Apparently Heavy got over the whole thing as soon as he realised he'd managed to make Demoman run away like a little girl.

'So, I saw Engie, right? Facing the other way, looking across the battlefield.'

'When?'

'Couple a' minutes ago.'

'But— ohhh,' Sniper said, his eyes widening. A slow grin spread across his face.

Demoman laughed again. 'Yep! You got it! So, so I sneak up on him, thinking this might be my only chance.'

'And not at all worried about a wrench to the head?'

Demo waved the suggestion away. 'It'd be worth it, mate. So I sneaked up on him and— and I said, "how's it going?" And slapped him....' He looked up at Sniper with fresh tears in his eye. Sniper started to chuckle. He could see the punchline coming and delighted in it.

'He shrieked, actually bloody shrieked. The cloak rippled out from his ass in wave of blue. It was glorious, mate, glorious. I literally slapped all of the RED out of him! Then we were just standing there, me and the BLU Spy and I don't think either of us knew what the fuck to do or what the fuck just happened.'

Sniper might not call himself the most imaginative person but the image that came to mind had him leaning against the dispenser, shaking with laughter.

'You slapped the BLU Spy's ass. You slapped the BLU Spy's ass!'

'I did,' Demo agreed.

'What happened then?'

'Well, once my brain finally caught up on what had just happened I said, “I'll take you out to dinner first next time!” and drew my sticky bomb launcher.'

Sniper hooted in delight. 'You didn't! You didn't!'

'I did. It was the most beautiful moment of my life. I hope to hell there were cameras on it and the Administrator got to see it!'

As if on cue, the Administrator bellowed over the tannoy system: 'the enemy has taken our intelligence!'

'Oh hell!' Sniper said, pulling himself up and reaching for his bow. 'That's made my whole bloody day, that has,' he said as Demoman grabbed some more ammo for his grenade launcher. 'Please tell me you're gonna tell everyone else on the team.'

'Oh yes,' Demo said, a wicked gleam in his eye. 'I'm telling everyone about this!'

 

The whole of the RED team seemed to cheer up after that, with jokes made about the incident whenever they ran into each other. Some were at Demo's expense, which really didn't phase him at all, but they all enjoyed mocking the BLU Spy over it. Medic took great pleasure it telling everyone that after the BLU Spy managed to get a backstab on him, Heavy grabbed hold of him and instead of killing him straight away, slapped the BLU Spy on the ass so hard Heavy claimed his hand still stung half an hour later.

Sniper loved it. Imagining the BLU Spy's wounded pride and embarrassment was the best thing that had happened to him in months. He went through the rest of his day smiling and even found himself whistling occasionally.

He knew that chances are it would just make the BLU Spy angrier, make him want to seek Sniper out and force him to feel that same pain and humiliation, but Sniper didn't care. Bring it on. He'd survive it.

To top off the good day, RED won the match.

Whistling a tune he couldn't name, Sniper headed back towards the teleporters that would take the winners home. The losers would be dragged through respawn as soon as the humiliation round ended, if they weren't already in the system. Several were. In their dramatic last battle for the intelligence, Sniper had taken out the enemy Soldier, a level two sentry and Medic by himself to allow Scout to snatch up the final briefcase and claim victory for the REDs.

Sniper didn't mind much that he hadn't been the one to get the intelligence back himself, or that he had the long walk back to make by himself. They'd won. He'd played a vital part in it. Sniper was happy.

A flash of movement caught Sniper's eye. His head flicked to the side to track it, spotting a wounded BLU moving away from him, towards shelter.

The BLU Sniper. For a moment their eyes met. The BLU stopped moving, clutching a wounded arm, waiting for death, expressionless.

Sniper turned away, pretending not to notice him. He still rarely killed BLUs during the humiliation round, though he understood these days why his teammates did. If it had been the Medic or the Soldier or any of the ones involved in that attack in town...

Rage flickered up Sniper's spine, chased by a wave of unexpected panic. Sniper picked up his pace, heart beating uncomfortably hard in his chest.

He hated this. Hated it hated it hated it. And didn't understand it. When shit happens you pull yourself back up and you get on with life.

There were things he'd done and things he'd seen that would always haunt him, but nothing before now had had this power over Sniper. He'd be going through the day and then suddenly something would make him think about what had happened in town and it would be like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the world.

He hated it.

A scuff of feet. Behind him. Nearby. Sniper fought the urge to turn around. If he didn't see the BLU, he could excuse himself of killing another. Sniper's hands clenched into fists. Or of facing one of _them_ and failing to do it.

A sharp pain. Sniper flinched, raising a hand to slap at his neck. An insect bite, he thought. A horse fly. His fingers caught against something cold. Pain flared again. Sniper hissed in a breath. Danger. Someone spoke at his side. He couldn't make out the words. Something was wrong. Everything was wrong. Fear shuddered through him. The lamp lights along the Double Cross bridge flared. Sniper gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his mind clear. Fighting to keep the world in order. It didn't work. His vision narrowed down to those points of light, everything else in view shrinking into insignificance.

Danger. He had to move. Sniper couldn't remember how. He wallowed in dulled panic. It held his limbs down, poured treacle on his mind.

He hated this. He didn't understand.

Sniper shook his head, the lights streaming from side to side. Then they flickered out altogether.

 

Sniper pressed his tongue against his front teeth, fascinated with the sensation. He'd never thought, never realised how – how... He'd never realised. He’d never realised...what?

Eyes. Sniper cracked his eyes open. 'Woah,' he said. Or at least, he thought he did. How did you know? How did you ever know if the sound in your head weren't...Sniper lost that thread too, his thoughts spinning out in every other direction. He tried to lift his head up. It lolled to the side, making everything shift and spin. He laughed. Look at him. So out of it. What an idiot.

The room was fascinating. He didn't know where it was but he didn't care. There was not a where to be. This was the place. The only where. There were no other places.

A room. A room of some kind. Might have been brown. Wooden. Sniper couldn't tell. Everywhere he looked expanded before his eyes in a kaleidoscope of colours. When he closed his eyes and opened them they'd shrunk back to normal while he wasn't looking. Fireworks in front of his eyes. Like squinting at a light through your eyelashes. A private firework show just for him.

Him and Michelle.

Sniper's face twitched into a smile. It felt weird. So many muscles needed to smile. You had to move every one of them. Such hard work.

Him and Michelle. Placing a tab on each others' tongues. Dissolving into one another. Down down down into somewhere beyond bliss. He'd missed more than one interview for a new job that way. Lost one more way out of the assassin's life he'd been dying to leave.

Missed her.

Lost her.

Dying.

Sadness overwhelmed Sniper. He groaned, the sound a step away from a sob. Tears prickled at his eyes, distorting the world of fireworks further. A deep, gut-wrenching longing sang through Sniper.

A hand touched his jaw gently. A hand, but not flesh. Sniper stilled, a sigh escaping him. He blinked to clear away the tears and to clear his vision. Fireworks flashed in front of his eyes, a chorus of colours forming the shape moving in front of him.

What was it? What was it?

Tears he could manage, it was fear he couldn't find. He didn't miss it.

Sniper sighed again, accepting it.

The thing – the person? Towered above him. A mountain of white and blue lights and sometimes red. Eyes. Eyes. Flashing fireworks. The King of the Lights stood before him.

Sniper couldn't find his arms. He hiccuped, the sound halfway between a sob and a laugh.

'Where's...where's...' he tried. 'Where's?'

'Shhhhh,' the lights hissed at him softly. There was a snake in the King's mouth. Had to be.

The hands-but-not-hands cupped his face. The hair on the nape of his neck prickled. Sniper blinked up at the light. No one touched him with good intentions. Not anymore.

Sniper tried to be afraid but couldn't find it.

The King of the Lights pushed his head back. The world spun. Sniper tried to steady himself. Tried to throw out his hands. Still couldn't find his arms.

'Shhh.'

Sniper hadn't even known he'd made a sound.

'Nothing to worry about, Sniper. Nothing to worry about.'

Sniper nodded slightly, head still held by the King of Lights. Nothing to worry. Nothing to worry.

The King of Lights moved one not-hand away.

_Tink._

The sound rang through Sniper, bouncing off the bones. Such a little noise. Such a bright little noise.

The King raised his not-hand. Something shone in his hand. Silver, sharp and pretty. Such a bright little thing.

'Now,' the King of Lights said, his voice echoing from far away. 'If I was the BLU Spy, how would I leave my second mark?'

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to both the boyfriend and Tiny-freakin-head for looking this one over for me :)


	48. Runnin' an' Trippin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, maybe I should leave you guys with horrible month-long cliffhangers more often! I got more comments for that last chapter than any other by a mile, despite it being so short.  
> That said, boy did I not intend to leave a month in between updates this time. Life has just been a lot more hectic than expected, to the extent that 90% of this fic was written on the train back from two separate trips to London and during quiet periods at work. In fact, I did all the editing at work today. Bad Term.  
> If I get fired for writing fanfiction, I'm blaming you lot.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all the TF2 fans I met at MCM Expo this year, whether they read the fic or not. Next chance I get to cosplay RED Sniper again, I'm taking it!

Now where was that skinny bastard? You know the one, tall as hell, stupid glasses. A hat that should look just as stupid but somehow suited him. Aussie git. Bit of an odd bloke. The loner type. A real decent guy once you got to know him though. Where the hell was he?

Demoman checked the toilets for a second time. Nope. 'Oh come on, Sniper,' he grumbled under his breath. They'd had plans to meet after the battle to celebrate the win (and the butt slap) together. But Sniper was a no-show. Usually Demo would just shrug and give up and find someone else to drink with. This time though, he'd set his heart on trying to get Sniper to draw a picture of him slapping the BLU Spy. It was unfair that the rest of the team hadn't been there to see it, Demo wanted it illustrated for posterity. They could put it on the fridge.

But the bloody bastard was nowhere to be found. Not in his van. Not in the base. Not the shooting range. No one had seen him either, not since Scout spotted him while capturing the final briefcase of the match. That seemed to bother Spy, but Demo had waved him off. He'd find him.

It didn't occur to Demoman to feel concern for his teammate, even after he'd been looking for nearly an hour. Even after what happened last time Sniper went missing. Demoman wasn't the kind of guy to get concerned over much. Everything would turn out fine in the end, and even if it didn't, well, what good had worrying over it every done?

Besides, he had faith in Sniper. He was a tough bugger. He'd probably just forgotten about meeting up and gone wandering off into the forest for a night-time walk. He'd been doing that a bit over the last week or so. Strange that he never seemed to have done it before then, really. Sniper certainly seemed like the outdoorsy type.

Demoman was getting a bit fed-up of this now though. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked a stone away as he walked past one of the old barns connected to their base. Small outdoor lights lit his way, pools of darkness in between where anything could have lurked. Like a Sniper, if he was lucky.

As Demoman looked down for another stone to kick, something caught his eye. His breath hitched, heart skipping a beat. It was too late. No time to dodge. No time to think.

This was the bit where he snapped awake in respawn, feeling like only a split second had passed when really fifteen had.

Except, Demoman was still standing outside the barn. And there was still a blue dot on his chest. He snapped his head up, searching for the source. A wide, barren scrubland stretched out from their base to the battlefield in distinct contrast to the lush pine trees of the forest behind him. Something about the old buildings once housing such toxic chemicals they'd scorched the earth for a mile around.

The battlefield was a mile away. The only buildings that could hide a sniper were a mile away. A sniper who could shoot him dead from a mile away. So why hadn't he?

The blue dot trailed down to the floor, spun in a couple of frenetic circles and lowly moved away from him, towards the battleground.

'What. The fuck?' Demoman muttered to himself. He didn't move. The dot jumped back to his feet. Demo took a step back. The light moved away again. Its meaning was clear. The motivation was not.

'Like fuck I'm following that,' Demo said, folding his arms. 'Just bloody shoot me if you're going to. Stop messing around.' He knew the BLU Sniper wouldn't be able to hear him, but he might be able to lipread.

The dot shook from side to side.

He could just leave. Just walk away and save himself a bullet through the brain. It was after hours. He didn't want to get stuck in respawn. But the BLU Sniper was insistent, trailing the laser’s light away and snapping back to Demo's feet over and over.

Demoman sighed. He knew himself too well. He took a step forward, and when no shots rang out, another. The light did a little dance and rushed away from him. Demo picked up the pace, following it out into the night. He forgot about his missing teammate, too caught up in wary curiosity about why the enemy Sniper was on the battlefield during ceasefire and what he wanted.

Belatedly, it occurred to Demoman that he didn't have any weapons on him. If this was a trap, which it most likely was, he was walking into it unarmed.

The battlefield was meant to be entirely off-limits after hours. That didn't mean the spies were the only ones that knew how to sneak in though. That said, last time Demo hadn't exactly been 'sneaking.' Soldier and him had blown their way in while drunk one weekend to...to...why had they done it? Probably because they were drunk.

Someone had repaired the fence before the next match but they hadn't filled in the hole in the ground left by Demo's grenades. He could get in that way.

The light disappeared briefly as Demoman approached his entrance. He cursed, thinking this must have all been some stupid prank to try and waste his time. Then it reappeared, shining from deeper into the battlefield. The BLU had moved. Whatever he was planning, it was calculated. The back of Demoman's neck prickled at the thought.

Demo scrabbled under the fence, wire catching on his collar. What the hell was he letting himself in for? All he'd wanted was to find Sniper. Sniper! Shit. Demoman almost turned back then. Here he was, wasting his bloody time on some stupid fool's errand that was most likely a trap when he was supposed to be searching for his teammate. Maybe he should consider being concerned about more things in life. A wary man would never have let himself get caught up in this baffling and entirely avoidable situation.

Demo was here now though. Might as well see it through to the end of the line. If the BLUs thought they could take him down easily just because he had no weapons, he'd put them right on that.

An unwelcome thought occurred to him. What if the BLU Spy was behind all this? What if this was his revenge? Demo had the impression though that most of the BLU team weren't all that keen on their Spy (was anyone?) so it was unlikely the Sniper would help him. Unless it wasn't the Sniper at the other end of that rifle...

Demoman tugged his hip flask free of his belt and took a swig from it. One for luck. He pushed on.

They moved further through the battlefield. Demoman lost track of the blue dot a number of times. It always returned though, usually shining from a slightly different location than before. It led him over the bridge without Demo having had even a glimpse of the Sniper. If it was the Sniper.

Now in BLU territory, Demoman moved more slowly and cautiously than ever before. He strained to catch any sound that might give away an ambush, heart beating uncomfortably hard in his chest. If RED Sniper hadn't gone AWOL, Demoman would never have seen the blue dot and ended up here. Whenever and wherever Sniper turned up, he owed Demo a drink.

The dot disappeared again, this time for longer than before. When it reappeared, it flickered madly across the side of a small barn. Demo looked for the source of the light one more time in vain. No sign. Sneaky bastard.

He thought of leaving again, but curiosity ate at him like his home-made absinthe had eaten right through the jar he'd stored it in. The barn had a light of its own, warm yellow leaking out of cracks in the wooden boards.

Demo took a step towards it, across an open area of cracked concrete and hardy weeds. A sound caught his attention. A voice? Maybe he'd imagined it. No! Someone inside the barn was talking. Not loudly, but not quiet enough to suggest they were waiting to ambush the next RED that walked by.

Still, it paid to be cautious.

Demoman made it halfway across the concrete when a cry of pain cut through the night. Demoman froze. Low groans followed. The type where you are in so much pain that sounds of distress leak out with every breath.

It was a trap. Had to be. He recognised that voice. They were hurting Sniper to draw him in. Rage flooded through Demo. He clenched his fists, one good eye narrowing.

He charged into the barn with a wordless battle cry, fully expecting to end up riddled with bullets before he'd even stepped inside. Instead, he found the BLU Medic letting go of Sniper's face, straightening up hastily. The Medic held a bloody scalpel in his other hand. In front of him sat Sniper, slumped forward in a wooden chair, arms and legs bound, blood streaming down his face.

Four steps brought Demo to the BLU Medic's side. Another, and his fist connected with the BLU's startled face. Glasses crunched beneath Demoman's hand. Frames bent and snapped. The scalpel fell to the ground. The Medic fell after it, crumpling sideways without a sound.

Demo stood over him for a moment, shaking his aching hand and staring in surprise. It didn't usually work out like that. The BLU lay flat out, tailcoats fanning out around him like a dove's tail.

Sniper groaned.

'Fuck, Sniper!' Demo said, turning to his teammate. 'Sniper?'

Sniper slowly dragged himself upright in the chair.

'Oh fuck, Sniper.’ Demoman said. 'Crikey.'

Sniper looked like utter shit.

The pupils in his odd-coloured eyes were blown wide, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Blood sheeted down his face and neck to drip down onto his chest from a bloody gash parallel to his scar.

'Sniper?'

He blinked at Demoman, eyes distant and unfocused.

'Mate?'

Sniper's gaze slid away again to stare at the wall. His lips parted, Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to speak. 'I—I...'

'Come on, Sniper, I’m getting yeh outta here.’' Demo glanced around nervously, certain the trap would spring shut around them any moment. No sign on the other BLUs. No sign of the little blue dot he'd followed or whoever had been controlling it.

Demo fumbled with the ties on Sniper's wrists. Three plastic ties, pulled tight. He hooked his fingers under one and tugged hard. It didn't budge. 'Fuck,' Demo muttered again. Sniper made a bubbly, questioning noise.

'Don't worry, don't worry,' Demoman said, as much to himself as to Sniper.

He cast around for a way to rescue his bound teammate. Damn; no wonder Sniper hadn't been around for a drink. What the hell was even going on here?

The scalpel caught Demo's eye. His lips twisted in distaste as he reached down to pick it up, the handle tacky with blood.

Demoman sliced through the ties on Sniper's wrists as quickly as he could, hands shaking slightly with adrenaline and neck prickling as he waited for everything to go to shit.

Sniper mumbled something incoherent, shifting in his seat. He made a startled little sound in the back of his throat as his arms moved to his sides.

'Oh. There. There's...there's my arms,' he slurred, sounding disconcertingly happy for a kidnapped man.

'Yep, there's your arms and here's your legs,' Demo said as he slid the scalpel under the second set of ties and hurriedly sawed through them.

'Oh, thank you,' Sniper said. Then, 'Demo?'

Demoman looked up to find Sniper slumped forward, squinting at him. He didn't look any better this close up. 'Uh, yep. Don't worry, Sniper, the cavalry's here,' he joked, offering his teammate a hand.

Sniper took it. 'I like horses,' he said as Demoman pulled him up. He stood, swaying on his feet. Demo kept hold of him.

'That's great, Sniper. Now how about we get you the hell out of here?' Sniper nodded in vague agreement as Demoman dragged him towards the barn door.

'Demo?' Sniper asked when they came to an unexpected stop.

'Shhh,' Demo said, scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement in the dark. 'Come on then, run!'

Sniper tried, stumbling behind Demo as he dragged him along.

Nothing. No cries of alarm. No gunshots. Not a peep.

Demo pulled Sniper into the next building and stopped again, panting slightly. Still nothing. Just the distant call of an owl.

'Demo?'

'Yeah?'

'I think...I think I'm a bit drunk.'

Demo glanced around, Sniper's swollen pupils visible in a strip of moonlight. ‘No, I think you’re probably just really high,’ he said.

‘Oh, thanks,’ Sniper said cheerfully.

‘Definitely high. What happened, Sniper?’

Sniper’s face creased in a frown, pulling at the cut down his face. He reached up to touch it. ‘Think I got a nosebleed,’ he said, smearing the blood between his fingertips.

‘Yeah. A nosebleed, right,’ Demo said. ‘Let’s get you to Medic for that.’ With one more glance around, he tugged Sniper out of the building.

Sniper shook his head but let himself be pulled along. ‘Don’ wanna bother Medic. S’late. Medic will be...will be…,’ he paused, searching for the word he wanted.

‘Asleep?’ Demo suggested.

‘Tha’s the one. Yeah. Don’ wanna wake Medic when he’s...asleep.’

Demoman sighed. Medic was usually the first to bed. The rest of the team teased him for it, saying it was because he was an old man. He said it was just so they wouldn’t bother him with anything stupid in the evenings. He could be a right grumpy bastard if you woke him up for anything short of a medical emergency. But he could also be a right grumpy bastard if he woke up the next day to find you’d tried to treat something serious yourself, DSS dispenser or not. You just couldn’t win.

Crossing the main bridge was a torturous affair. With every slow, heavy step, Demo expected a shot to embed itself in his or Sniper’s back. The floodlights that lit up the bridge at sporadic points felt more like searchlights every time they stepped under one.

At least being out in the cool night air seemed to have perked Sniper up a little. He was looking around now, standing up a little straighter, though still leaning heavily on Demoman for support.

‘Demo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re a good mate.’

‘Uh, thanks.’

‘Really. I mean it. You’ve always got alcohol.’ A pause. ‘Tha’s not the only reason though.’ Another pause. It stretched on. Sniper’s head lolled forward.

‘Oi, Sniper!’ Demoman said, tugging at his teammate’s arm.

‘Wuh?’ Sniper pulled himself upright again.

‘Keep it together, man.’

‘Keep what?’

Demoman sighed. ‘I think I prefer you drunk to high.’

‘’M not. Not done anythin’ like that in...ages.’

‘Didn’t say you were the one to do it,’ Demo said as they finally made it across to the RED side of the battlefield. He’d feel much more comfortable once they were out of sight of the BLU side. He’d feel even more comfortable when they were finally back at the base. ‘Either BLU Medic gave you something funny or you’ve really banged up your head.’

‘My head hurts,’ Sniper complained.

‘That’s probably just your...nosebleed.’

‘Haven’t done anything. Not got high since a long time. Not since… Not since...’ A long pause. Then a sniffling sound. ‘I miss her. I miss her so much.’

‘What? Demo said distractedly, straining in the dark to spot the gap under the fence he’d wriggled through. Getting Sniper under that was going to be fun.

‘Michelle.’ Another sniffle.

‘Not Mary Jane then?’ Demo replied jokingly, hoping to hell Sniper wasn’t about to start crying on him. He didn’t know how to handle crying people. His usual approach was to punch them on the shoulder and say, ‘aye, it’s not _that_ bad’ and hope to God the waterworks stopped.

‘No! I don’ even know that woman. Michelle… Oh God, why? Michelle…’ He grabbed hold of Demo’s shoulder. Demoman looked up at him uncomfortably. Sniper's eyes shone in the dark, fever bright, pupils so large they made his irises look black. No tears fell though, just blood from the slash down his face. ‘I loved her,’ Sniper said with fierce intensity. ‘I loved her so damn much. I just… I just don’t know where it all went wrong.’

Demo patted him awkwardly on the back while trying to manoeuvre him towards their exit. This was the most coherent Sniper had been so far. Hopefully that was a good sign. Pity it had to be about his ex. Demoman had lost count of the number of times a drinking buddy had ended up in tears because of an old, long-lost flame. That kind of display really made him stop and think about his drinking sometimes, though usually not for long.

‘Right, Sniper. How do you feel about climbing under this fence?’ He leant down and tugged at the bottom of the fence. ‘It’s a bit of a tight fit for me but a stick insect like you should be fine.’

‘I’m not a stick insect!’

‘Twig.’

‘No!’

‘Branch?’

‘No.’

‘Tough, that’s the best I can give you. Now get under there, will you?’ Demoman didn’t want to think about what might happen if he went first and the BLU Medic reappeared before Sniper managed to get to the other side.

Demo kept a lookout while Sniper scrabbled under the fence. Despite Demo’s assurances, Sniper still seemed to be struggling. Whatever drug he’d been given had ruined his coordination and though the Sniper was on the skinny side, he was still tall and pretty broad-shouldered.

‘Come on, come on, Sniper,’ Demoman muttered to himself as Sniper struggled under the fence. ‘If you get stuck, I’m gonna kick your flat arse through.’

Don’t have a flat arse,’ Sniper grumbled through a faceful of dirt.

‘You do. I’ve slapped it, remember. Bloody pancake arse.’

With another argumentative grumble, Sniper finally dragged himself free. Without support, he flopped down onto his back.

Demoman pushed his way under and dragged himself and then Sniper to his feet. He glanced back one last time at the battlefield. All quiet on the Mann. Co front. No sign of the BLU who’d led him to Sniper, or any of the others.

Demo persuaded Sniper to pick up the pace, jogging in places to cover the mile back to base. Dawn tinted the night sky by the time they’d made it. Summertime in Colorado brought early mornings. Medic was not going to be pleased to be woken up at this sort of time.

‘My own fault, that,’ Sniper was saying, tugging up his shirt.

‘Uh, what, Sniper?’ Sniper had been babbling on about different things the whole way back. Demo now knew all about the farm Sniper had grown up on, his favourite animals and the time he’d thrown rocks at the kids who chased him up a tree.

‘This scar.’ Sniper pointed at the nasty series of grooves dug into his abdomen.

‘Always thought a croc did that or something,’ Demo said. He’d seen glimpses of it over the last few months but never got around to asking about it.

‘Well, yeah. But it was my fault. Thought she was dead. Idiot.’ Sniper laughed to himself. ‘First ever croc I killed. Absolute beaut. Shouldn’t have done it. She was just minding her business, too far away from anyone to do any harm. Don’t get many crocs where I’m from though. Never got the opportunity before. Thought it...thought it...would prove something, I think. To myself. Thought she was dead. Wanted a tooth. She still had some life left in her though. Waited until I was right beside her before she went for me. Thought I was a gonna. Would have been if she hadn’t died right then and there before she could really sink her teeth in. Her last act before she shuffled off this mortal coil off to croc heaven was to prove to me what a stupid bastard I was. Never killed another croc after that. Still got my tooth, though.'

It took Sniper a couple of attempts to fish the cord around his neck from under his shirt. He held up the tooth at the end of it for Demo as his proof. 'Dug it out myself,' he said proudly. 'Of myself, I mean. Not the croc.'

'That's...nice, Sniper,' Demoman said, concentrating more on steering Sniper towards the medical wing than on his story, as interesting as it was.

'Oh, shhhh! Shhhh! No!' Sniper said when Demo raised his fist to knock on the door beside the infirmary. _Damn._ Sniper was aware enough now to recognise Medic's bedroom door.

'I gotta, man. He'll kill me if I don't wake him up for this.'

'He'll kill us both if you _do_ wake him up.'

'Yeah, I've already thought about that. It's a risk I'm willing to take.'

'No!'

Demo rapped his knuckles against the door. Sniper cringed, pulling himself away to stand unsteadily behind Demoman. Demo counted down from five. No answer. He raised his fist to knock again. Angry Danish muttering filtered through the door. Demo lowered his fist sharply, hands behind his back, shoulders braced.

The door flew open.

Medic glared up at him, leaning against the wall in his dressing gown, hair fluffed up and glasses skewed to one side.

'What?' he demanded.

'Sniper—'

'It wasn't me!' Sniper interrupted. 'He did it!'

'Sniper,' Demo said again with determination. 'Has been drugged and kidnapped.'

Medic blinked at Sniper in owlish confusion, still half-asleep. 'No he hasn't,' he said irritably, 'He's right there. How much have you been drinking, Demo, and why on earth did you decide it was worth waking me up over?'

'He _has_ been drugged and kidnapped and I've been and rescued him, no drinking involved. Well, hardly any.'

Medic's sceptical frown turned to a look of clinical consideration as he watched Sniper try and fail to stand up by himself without the aid of a nearby wall.

'So,' he said, realisation dawning on his face, 'that's where he's been since the match?'

'Yep, think so,' Demo said. He sighed with relief as Medic pushed past him to hold open one of the infirmary doors, straightening his glasses as he went. Medic used to keep it locked when he first started working for RED, but he'd found a couple of years back that it apparently wasn't necessary. Something about himself just seemed to keep the rest of the team from deciding it was worth snooping about.

Demo peeled a reluctant Sniper away from the wall and helped him make his slow way through the door and to the nearest medical bed. Sniper might have been stringing whole sentences together now but he still appeared to be struggling with everything else.

Medic shone a light in Sniper’s eyes. Sniper squinted and pulled away.

‘Sit still please,’ Medic said. His earlier irritation had bled away, replaced with something that sounded oddly close to concern to Demo. Demo might not be one for worrying, but he couldn't help the flicker of unease he felt. Medic saw dozens or horrible wounds every day. Between his medical knowledge, medigun, and respawn, what was there for Medic to be concerned about?

‘Do you know what happened?’ Medic asked as he examined Sniper’s eyes.

When Sniper didn’t answer, Demo realised he needed to. ‘Not a hundred percent sure to be honest. I think I’ve probably only got half the picture and none of the reasoning behind it. Hopefully Sniper has the other half.’

‘Sniper, I’m going to take a blood sample and then use the medigun on you. Is that all right?’

Sniper blinked slowly. ‘Yeah,’ he said eventually. ‘Sounds good.’

Medic turned away from him and paused next to Demo. ‘Any idea how long has passed sinceSniper received the cut?’ he said quietly.

‘About half an hour ago. Maybe a little more; it took us a while to get back.’

‘Hmm, we should be in time then. I don’t think the second scar will stick.’

‘Bloody good thing that,’ Demo cast a surreptitious glance at Sniper over Medic’s shoulder. Unsupported, Sniper was slowly keeling over onto his side, eyes half-shut. ‘Poor bastard’s already got enough of a scar on his face as it is.’

Medic nodded. He moved past Demo to a cupboard at the other side of the room and then called back, ‘Demo, could you help me look for a needle?’

Demo’s brows furrowed. Strange, Medic usually—Oh. Oh. What could he have to talk about that he wanted to make double sure Sniper didn’t overhear?

Curious, and a little nervous, Demo followed Medic and crouched next to him, making a  show of searching the shelves.

‘What sort of...state was he in when you found him?’

Demo shrugged. ‘Pretty much like you see him now but even more out of it.’

‘I mean…’ Medic shifted uncomfortably, reaching a hand out to brush his fingers across a row of empty medicine bottles. The equipment he wanted lay a shelf further down in plain sight of both of them. ‘...clothes wise?’

‘Clothes wise?’ Demoman echoed.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, normal. You know,’ Demo said, confused about how else he would have found him. Sniper had been kidnapped too early on to have discovered him in koala-patterned pajamas or whatever else he wore to bed.

‘No buttons undone? No, uh, zips?’ Medic pushed, each word sounded more uncomfortable than the last.

Demo stopped pretending to search the cupboard and turned to stare at Medic. ‘No…’ Unasked questions hung in the air between them. Demo opened his mouth, searching for a way to ask them. Words failed him as his brain rejected his suspicion. No. He had to have the wrong end of the stick here.

‘Maybe the Spy didn’t get that far…’Medic muttered to himself, but Demo caught it.

‘Spy? Wasn’t the Spy. It was their Medic.’

‘What?’ Medic asked too loudly. He glanced back at Sniper. Demo followed his gaze. Sniper lay on his side, long legs and one arm dangling off the bed. He appeared to be fast asleep despite the blood covering half his face.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Well, yeah. I decked the guy. Knocked him out cold. Even if it had been the BLU Spy in a friendly disguise, that would have given it away.’

‘The BLU Medic…’ Medic muttered. ‘Why him?’

Demoman shrugged. As he’s already said, he only knew part of what happened and had no idea as to the why of it.

‘Him and the Spy aren’t friends,’ Medic said. ‘They wouldn’t have been working together, certainly not on something like this…’

‘Something a bit...worse than the usual maiming and killing we all know and love?’ It was as close as Demoman could bring himself to asking the unaskable, humour thrown in for his own ease of mind.

‘Yes, something like that,’ Medic replied.

_Well fuck._ Demo hoped he was really barking up the wrong tree here. He’d made jokes about the enemy Medic, especially in relation to his connection to the BLU Heavy, but he made those kind of jokes about everyone. He never expected he’d actually be right. But if any bloke on the BLU team was...interested in another bloke, why Sniper? Demo looked back at him again. Sniper wasn’t exactly a pretty boy. Not an ugly old bastard either, true, but not... not… Demo was in too deep here. He cast about for a way out.

‘Don’t you need to be getting that medigun on him, doc?’

‘Oh, yes!’ Medic said, snatching up the needle. ‘Oh. He’s passed out. I hadn’t realised. Oh dear.’

‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ Demo said. ‘Pretty sure he’s just sleeping.’

Medic took the opportunity to get his blood sample without fuss, cleanly inserting the butterfly needle and drawing the blood without waking Sniper. He transferred it to a sample bottle and set up his tests running in the background before returning.

'The medigun should sort Sniper out,' he said, moving the wall-mounted medigun over to the bed. 'I still want to analyse the blood sample to see what he was given though. Especially if the BLU Medic was involved.’

Sniper kept on sleeping as the medigun healed up the gash on his face. Medic monitored his temperature, respiratory rate, and pulse. 'Everything's within the acceptable threshold,' he said. 'The medigun's doing its job. Could you tell me how you found him though? I know you went looking for him but I can't imagine you searched the enemy base...'

'He was still on the battlefield. I think their Medic must have got him just after the match ended.'

'Ah, of course,' Medic said, filling a bowl with warm water. 'The humiliation round mechanic.'

'What about it?'

'It only force-respawns survivors from the losing team. If you win, you have to return to the teleporters under your own steam.'

‘So?’

'So you can't try and kidnap or restrain a helpless enemy currently under the effects of the humiliation round.'

'Ohhhhh,' Demo said, eye widening. 'But we won, so if their Medic drugged Sniper, Sniper wouldn't respawn. What about their Medic though? He would have done.'

'And returned to the battlefield through an unknown entrance to find the drugged Sniper exactly where he'd left him.'

'And here I'd been thinking they'd grabbed Sniper right out of his van to set a trap up for me.'

'For you?'

'Well, yeah. It was one of them that led me to him after all.'

'Who? Who was it?'

'Pretty sure it was their Sniper. Used that little laser light on his scope to guide me there. Dunno why he'd help, though; he's always shooting our Sniper's head off. They aren't exactly friends.'

'No. Maybe he doesn't like their Medic? What other reason would he have for trying to help save our Sniper from being sec—.' Medic's hand went to his cheek, a thoughtful, distant expression on his face.

Demoman was about to ask him what that was about when a groan from the bed caught his attention.

'Ooh, look who's back from the land of dreams and looking like shit,' Demo said with a grin to a dazed, confused and still rather bloody Sniper.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want a super sad Nath x Michelle playlist? I've had a WIP one for ages on Youtube and damn. This is my best one yet by far. The feels, guys. The feels.


	49. Of Second Opinions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I didn't intend to leave another full month between updates. (Well, one day off a full month.) Work, general life stuff and my original manuscript have been eating all my time up. I've also been struggling with some kind of problem with my muscles and stuff that's left me in pain whenever I've sat down to write for the last year or so. It's been really bad the last couple of months, leaving me in constant pain even when I wasn't writing. I'm seeing someone about it now and it's not as bad at the moment but writing remains uncomfortable for me. Still, the show must go on!
> 
> (Leoleoteterev has done a wonderful piece of art for chapter 47. Check it out if you haven't already seen it on Tumblr!)

Once Demo had left, Sniper ran his fingers down his face where the cut had been. ‘The BLU Medic, he… I mean… If Demo hadn’t rescued me, that would have left a scar, wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘A second scar?’

‘Yes.’

Sniper fell silent, staring blankly at the mirror that had ended up in his lap. ‘Thought only spies did that.’

‘Yes, and it’s not exactly, well, a common occurrence. I’ve only ever met two snipers with a second scar before and I’ve worked for and against a lot of different teams,’ Medic said.

‘Do you think the Medic would have...would have…’ Sniper shifted uneasily, the enormity of the potential threat finally sinking in. His brain still felt fuzzy around the edges despite the medigun, like he was running on too little sleep. Maybe he was. Sleep hadn’t been the same friend to him lately that it had once been.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past that man,’ Medic said flatly. ‘But it depends on who he was out to get.’

‘Wait, you think he drugged me by accident?’

‘No, you were clearly the intended victim, but perhaps not the intended target.’

_Well that makes a whole lot of bloody sense,_ Sniper thought to himself irritably. He didn’t think much of being labelled as a ‘victim.’

‘What I mean is, if it had really been you he was trying to hurt, he would have taken your eyes.’

‘He _did_ hurt me,’ Sniper pointed out.

‘But he _didn’t_ take your eyes. That was all he was interested in before, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ Sniper admitted with a slow nod, thinking it over. ‘Maybe he was planning to do that next?’ The more Sniper thought about all this, the more gratitude he felt to Demo. He really owed the guy a drink. Or twelve.

‘Then what would have been the point in trying to leave an unrelated scar?’

Sniper didn’t know. He spotted a splash of blood under his chin that he’d missed and wiped it away. There was more on his shirt that he’d have to try and get out soon if he didn’t want it to permanently stain. Good thing it was a red shirt.

‘If that mark had stuck, you would have ended up with two obvious and deliberate scars on your face. To any merc who knows about second scarring that would suggest just one thing.’

‘And you think he would have done it if Demo hadn’t arrived?’ Sniper asked quietly, in barely more than a whisper.

‘As I said, I believe the BLU Medic is capable of sinking to any depths to get what he wants. He may well have done. If that’s what he actually wanted.’

Sniper sighed. He was far too tired for this cryptic, roundabout way of saying things. Or maybe Medic was speaking plainly and Sniper was just too tired to get it.

‘He had me tied down to a chair, hands and legs bound to it,’ Sniper said. As fuzzy as his recollections were, that much he knew. ‘That’s a good way to keep someone from escaping but it’s not the most practical, uh, position, for…’ Sniper swallowed, feeling suddenly nauseous. His heart beat faster in his chest, head spinning like he was still drugged. ‘So he—he probably wasn’t going to,’ Sniper said in a rush, the words tripping over each other.

‘He wouldn’t have needed to, either,’ Medic said. ‘The scar was the main thing. That’s what he needed to get back at the BLU Spy.’

‘At the BLU Spy?’ Sniper asked, incredulous.

‘I think the two of them dislike each other almost as much as we dislike them.’

Sniper could agree with that. It had been very clear that time the enemy Medic came across the Spy harassing him during the humiliation round that the two of them were not exactly friends.

‘And the Spy was the one who stopped him from taking your eyes by sending you through respawn,’ Medic continued. ‘I might be wrong, but this looks like an attempt to get revenge on the BLU Spy for saving you, not on you for escaping.’

‘But every time someone who knew about that stuff looked at me, they’d think I’d been second scarred!’

‘Yes. And they’d think the BLU Spy did it.’

Sniper fell silent again. He still personally thought he was the one who would have come off the worst in this scenario, but Medic’s logic made sense. It certainly explained why Sniper still had two eyeballs in his skull. It would have rather blown Medic's cover if he’d taken them.. And if Sniper had been found hours later, or released to stumble back on his own, he would probably have gone on to believe that the BLU Spy was the King of the Light.

Would the Medic have really done it though? Would he have gone all the way to keep his secret? Or would he have drugged Sniper further so he couldn’t tell which way was up, let alone what might or might not have happened to him? Or maybe the scar by itself would have been enough, without the deed to go with it.

'How did Demo find me, by the way?' Sniper asked, wanting to take his mind off the subject.

'BLU Sniper helped.'

'What? Really?'

'I believe so.'

Sniper remembered spotting his counterpart at the end of the match. The BLU was always getting headshots on him, but as much as that rankled, Sniper still hadn't been up for taking part in the humiliation round. It looked as though that small mercy had been repaid

But this meant yet another person knew he'd been kidnapped. Knew he couldn't defend himself. Felt pity for him.

Sniper stood up, jaw clenched.

'Sniper?'

'I'm off to bed.'

Medic stifled a yawn and asked, 'Are you sure you're all right now, Sniper?'

'Yeah, I'm fine, Doc. Go get some sleep.' It wasn't the first time he'd lied to Medic about that recently. Chances were, it wouldn't be the last.

Medic gave him a grateful nod. They left through the main doors, Medic stopping outside his bedroom. 'If you have any problems, if any BLUs are harassing you beyond the norm or you just want someone to talk to, you come to me, okay?'

'Uh, will do.' Another lie. Sniper hated this. Appearing weak. He'd thought he'd escaped it when he'd left Australia behind. But here he was, a full grown man in America with half a team of mercenaries fussing over him at every turn because he couldn't keep himself out of damn trouble.

'Good night, Sniper.'

'Night.'

Sniper walked out of the base and into the early morning sun. Not so much 'night', then. He looked at his camper parked next to the garage, then out at the forest that surrounded their base on three sides. Exhaustion hit Sniper, followed by a feeling of being completely fed-up with the whole world. What if he just started walking? Left the base, entered the woods and just kept going and going? What would kill him first, bears? Hunger and thirst? Mann.Co?

For a moment longer, Sniper stood there, contemplating it. Then he sighed and turned away, heading for his van. He needed to sleep. Tomorrow- well, today- was Saturday. He could sleep in as long as he liked.

Maybe it was the last of the drugs in his system, or the hour, or just how fed-up Sniper was of the world, but his head had barely touched the pillow before he was sound asleep.

If Sniper's dreams were comforting ones, he couldn’t remember them when he awoke.

 

The next time Sniper saw Demo, he awkwardly thanked him for all he'd done. He then even more awkwardly asked Demo not to mention it to anyone else on the team.

'Spy will just fuss if he finds out,' he said.

Demo nodded. 'Yeah, he does that. Bit of a mother hen, that one. Doesn't mean any harm by it. Won't say anything if you don't want me to, though. It's not your fault you got caught up in some BLU weirdness, so I don't want you to have to suffer with a fussy Spy because of it.'

'Thanks mate. I mean it.'

'Want to share a couple of beers later?' Demo asked.

Sniper took that to mean: _Can I get you drunk enough for you to tell me what happened?_

'Nah mate, after last night I'm afraid I really don't fancy anything that can send you a bit doolally.'

'Fair enough. The offer still stands, though. You ever want a drink, you come see _me_ about it.' Demo pointed both thumbs at his chest proudly.

'Yeah,' Sniper said. Demo's company had always been so easy and relaxed because he didn't know anything about the weirdness with the BLU Spy Sniper had found himself caught up in. Now BLU Medic had gone and ruined that.

 

Sniper spent most of the rest of his weekend avoiding company and dwelling on his problems. He wished he could turn respawn off, give every BLU (minus perhaps their Sniper, Scout and Engineer) a quick tap to the head with one of his bullets, and hope the next lot that cycled through weren't a bunch of psychotic assholes. Then again, they would be _mercenaries._

There was something very cathartic about going to the shooting range by himself and spending an hour or so at a time practising. His aim with both his bow and his rifle had improved greatly since he'd first arrived. He'd been squeezing in more practice every day than he’d put into a week back before he’d gone to prison. At least these pointless, never-ending battles seemed to have some advantage to them.

 

On Sunday evening, Sniper went to fire off his rifle again, only to find the chamber empty. Damn, he'd been so deep in concentration he hadn't been keeping track. He reached into his pocket for more, fingers brushing against fabric and nothing else.

'Bugger.' He patted his other pockets. There should be more. Mann.Co kept him nice and topped up on bullets. Sniper hadn't really gone and used every last one of them up on the practice range, had he?

Sniper searched his pockets again, then his van, then the rec room. The rec room had a reputation for ending up full of odds and ends off the battlefield, including the teleporter currently inexplicably sitting in the middle of the pool table. The same happened in the kitchen, though there tended to be more of a knife and sword theme going on in there.

'Have looked in respawn room?' Heavy enquired after Sniper checked under the couch he was sitting on for the second time.

'Oh!' Sniper said, the image of an ammo box waiting on his shelf in respawn suddenly popping into his head. 'Yeah, I think you might be onto something there. Thanks, mate!'

'Is no problem,' Heavy said, returning to a huge tome of a book Sniper wouldn't have dared to tackle even if it had been in English.

Sniper turned around and headed out. Now that he'd stopped shooting, all the thoughts he'd been trying to ignore slowly crept back to the forefront of his mind. Sniper hunched his shoulders as he walked, hands sunk into pockets.

He'd taken up sniping in the first place to feel powerful, to have control. Even then though, he'd been surrounded by muscle-bound Australian assassins who thought little of his skills. And becoming a killer had been a high price to pay for a moment of control.

Then he'd fled to America to escape the shame of a disastrously wrong night of allowing another man to have full control over him.

Had Sniper ever actually felt in control of even himself? Had he ever been happy with who he was? With Michelle he had been, at least. Except being with her had made him even more ashamed of being a killer than before. He'd wanted to change and she'd helped him, without knowing how much of a difference she'd made.

And then he'd killed her,

Lost all his autonomy in prison.

Been sentenced to death.

Got rescued by RED and kept as an asset with little to no freedom.

And then the BLU Spy had come along.

And the Medic.

And those other BLUs.

And now Sniper wasn't sure he'd ever feel in control of his own fate ever again.

 

When Sniper reached the respawn room, Engineer was already in there.

'Sniper,' he said with a nod. He was on his knees in front of the huge computer that controlled respawn, one panel off and respawn's guts spilling out.

'You couldn't...damage respawn like that, could you?' Sniper asked nervously, eyeing Engineer's work.

Engineer put down a pair of flat nose pliers and picked up his wrench. 'Nope,' he grunted. 'I'm not some redneck idiot, I know what I'm doing.'

'Uh,' Sniper said. He hadn't intended to insult Engineer, but he couldn't blame a guy for being worried when he was tinkering with something that might mean life or death for the entire team.

'Anyway,' Engineer continued with another grunt at he wrestled with a stubborn bolt inside the machine, 'there's a fail safe that will boot us back up to our last respawn point if this baby ever breaks down.' He patted the side of the supercomputer like it was a favourite horse.

'What about what happened with the previous Sniper?' Sniper asked as he wandered over to his shelf, set into the wall next to Engineer.

'That was different. That was a split-second blip. It didn't last long enough for the backup machine to kick in.'

'Hope that never happens again,' Sniper said, pulling down the ammo box he'd been looking for.

'Oh, it won't,' Engineer informed him cheerfully. 'I can make sure of that. Tell me though, you been having trouble with that BLU snake recently?'

'Uh,' Sniper said again, taking a moment to catch up with the unexpected topic switch. He scratched the back of his head, knocking his hat forward. 'I guess,' he said, dragging it back into place.

Engineer tutted. 'Snakes like that have a nose for weakness. They can sniff it out a mile a way like blood in shark-infested water and once they latch onto you, you're done. Yeh should have done what I did first time he tried to sink his knife into me: beat him to death with my melee weapon. Sent a good, strong warning, that did. Wouldn't let the likes of him walk all over me.' He finally managed to wrench the stubborn bolt free and turned to face Sniper. He didn't have his goggles on today and it felt unnatural to Sniper to see his flinty eyes staring back at him in place of glass goggles. Sniper turned away so he wouldn't have to look Engineer in the eye.

'Yeh know,' Engineer continued, 'You surprise me, boy. Thought an Aussie would have been raised with more fight in him, even if you are the runt of the litter compared to the rest of your darn crazy country.'

'I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been fighting every bloody day since I got here,' Sniper said through gritted teeth. He picked up the heavy metal ammo box by its handle and swung around the face Engineer again. What was his problem? Sniper already been feeling down and disappointed with himself, he didn't need anyone else to rub it in.

'Oh, is that what you call it,' Engineer said calmly, wiping oily hands off on a cloth. 'Hiding up in the rafters all day, shooting heads off?'

Sniper's fists clenched around the ammo box handle, eyes narrowing. 'Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do.'

'Well, pity you don't do a better job of it.' Sniper couldn't avoid those eyes now, the cool, flat look to them that said Engineer had judged Sniper long ago, found him lacking, and now there was nothing left to discuss on the matter.

'Been out on the shooting range half the day,’ Sniper said. ‘You don't get better without practising.' Which he had been doing every day out on the battlefield, anyway. He'd always been a crack shot and he'd only been getting better at it again ever since he'd arrived.

'Yeh, you're right about that,' Engineer said, standing up. 'That's why I made allowances for you, helped show you the ropes when you first arrived. It always takes a while for greenhorns to settle in, but boy, have you been underperforming because you let that BLU Spy walk all over you. BLU Sniper too. I know all the codes for respawn, I know how to see exactly how many times you've died and in what ways.

'Than you'll be able to see how many times I've shot a BLU!' Sniper snapped.

'Yes,' Engineer agreed. 'I'd been hoping it would be more than our last Sniper. He was getting old and fat. It was time for him to go. I thought getting some new blood in would help. Someone younger, with a quicker hand and better eye. You were looking like you were on track to do all right for yourself but since you let those BLUs bitch-slap you around town, you've been body-shotting and missing kills like a true newbie. I've been watching, Sniper. You're as good as useless to us now.'

Sniper's heart hammered in his chest, rage hooking claws into his ribs.

He took a step closer to Engineer, towering over him.

How dare he. _How dare he?_

Where had all this come from? Engineer had no idea how much the enemy Spy had been tormenting him since he first arrived here. It wasn't something that a single melee kill could solve. Hell, Sniper didn't know if there was any way of stopping the Spy's vindictive stalking beyond throwing himself down at the bastard's feet and crying, 'just take me already and have done with it!'

Sniper had earned the class name. He could blow a head off a mile away. He'd been getting better and better at his job after years of forced retirement; it wasn't his fault if some other sniper who knew the battlefield through and through got more headshots than he did at the moment. That went for both the last RED Sniper and the current BLU one.

As for how he'd been performing this week, well fuck, what did Engineer expect, that Sniper could just go back to normal? Despite the medigun, Sniper still ached all over and any sight of one of the BLUs who’d been involved in his attack had a chance of setting off those uncomfortable, panicked little moments he'd been suffering through lately.

'You got a problem with me sayin' any of this, partner?' Engineer drawled. He was smirking now, but his eyes were still like chips of flint. ''Cos if you do, why don't you stand up for yourself for once in your miserable little life?'

'Little?' Sniper scoffed. 'Rich words coming from you, mate!'

A common misconception of Brits and Australians was that 'mate' inherently meant 'friend.' Engineer clearly understood that in this instance, it actually meant, 'you fucking asshole.'

That wasn't the reason why he swung his wrench up into Sniper's face though.

Sniper's head snapped back. He blinked at the ceiling, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Then the pain hit. Sniper stumbled back another step, back hitting the shelving. He dropped the heavy ammo box to clutch at his jaw. The world spun around him and a moment later he was on his knees. He bent forward, groaning in agony.

It was a moment or two longer before Sniper could think properly, before he could remember where he was and who was standing over him.

'Oh no, boy, don't you go starting the short jokes with me, now. You won't like where that ends.' Engineer moved away, as though Sniper wasn't worth a minute more of his time.

Sniper dragged himself to his feet unsteadily, without using his hands. Something was wrong with his jaw. He couldn't close it. Pain radiated down his neck and up into his head, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

He wanted to stand up tall and punch the living daylights out of that short little bastard, but just the thought of moving that much made Sniper feel like he was going to throw up. Or maybe he really was going to throw up.

Engineer had moved the opposite wall to the one Sniper would have expected. Away from the main bulk of respawn and over to the line cylinders that lined the other wall. He stopped at the one with a crosshair logo above it. He turned back to Sniper, who glared at him through watering eyes.

'Now, Sniper, you really want to help the team? Make yourself useful?'

Sniper couldn't answer even if he'd wanted to.

Engineer tugged open the front panel on Sniper's respawn module. When he spoke, it was in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, as though telling someone the best way to unblock their sink. 'Here's what you do,' he said. 'You put your thumb to the scanner right here like you did when you first signed into respawn.' Engineer jabbed his wrench towards the scanner. 'Then you type in this code: 9258. Don't worry, no one else knows it but you and me. Then, you accept your transfer out of respawn on this panel here.' He gestured with the wrench again. 'And then you do all of us a favour, and you go out and shoot yourself. Then we can try again and hope we get a replacement who doesn't need half the team fussing over him to do half the job of a proper Sniper!'

Engineer calmly closed the front panel again, nodded to Sniper as though this had all been a casual, friendly chat, and left the room.

Sniper waited until he was gone before staggering outside and off towards the DSS Dispenser. The dispenser Engineer had built.

He left behind his rifle ammo, and all intentions of trying to better himself. What was the point?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll have the Michelle X Nath playlist ready for when I next update. Probably in another month’s time!


	50. Michelle, Ma Belle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifty chapters. Fifty. Wow. Thank you to everyone who's still reading, especially those of you who have left comments and reviews along the way.  
> Chapter fifty. We're almost there at last. Let's jump straight in, shall we?

It had something to say about how preoccupied BLU Spy was that he didn’t even notice their missing Medic until Monday morning. Even then, he only realised because Scout pointed out an hour before the match that Medic would be coming through respawn any minute.

The Spy looked across the kitchen to where Heavy sat, reading a Polish newspaper two weeks out of date and studiously ignoring all of Scout’s attempts to engage him in conversation.

‘Oh come on, man, you’ve got to be at least a little bit curious!' Scout said. ‘This is _Medic_ we’re talking about!’

Spy listened in as he dawdled over making a cup of coffee. He’d recently picked up the same brand as the RED Sniper favoured. It wasn’t as good as his usual coffee supply imported in from Italy, but for some reason he kept drinking it anyway.

‘I do not care,’ Heavy said simply, newspaper rustling as he turned the page.

‘What? I mean, come on!'

The sudden rift that had popped up between the BLU Medic and Heavy ever since the town incident must have been particularly obvious if even the Scout had noticed.

Scout gave a huff and threw his arms up in exasperation. He turned away, spotting Spy. ‘Yo, Spy! Do you know about what happened with Medic?

‘About why we’re having to wait for the good doctor to respawn?’ the Spy asked, eyebrows arched and face set into a derisive expression that said, _well, obviously_. The Spy couldn’t stand to look like the person with the least amount of information in the room, even if that meant relying on parroting back what Scout himself had said.

‘Yeah,’ Scout replied, ‘Engie told me the system said it happened after the last battle and was something to do with the RED Demo and a head injury but no one seems to know what the hell happened!’

An interesting titbit. The Spy scrambled to remember the last time he’d seen their Medic. Not since Friday’s battle.

‘He probably gained the injury during the humiliation round,’ Spy said dismissively.

‘And didn’t heal himself after?’ Scout said.

‘Well, he is an idiot,’ the Spy said dismissively, stirring his coffee and watching Heavy out of the corner of his eye. Heavy shook his newspaper straight and turned to the next page.

The Spy took that as final confirmation. Whatever nasty little thing the Heavy and Medic had had going on between them was well and truly over. Otherwise, Spy would most likely have been dodging a meaty fist sent his way right about now.

This probably meant that unless they had some angry break-up sex planned for the future, the Spy had lost his chance to get hold of prime blackmail material. He didn’t mind as much as he normally would though; he really hadn’t been looking forward to taking those photos.

Engineer entered the room, sorting through the mail. ‘One of them REDs has set us up a subscription for a dodgy men’s magazine again,’ he complained.

‘Oh?’ Scout said hopefully.

Engineer shook his head. ‘As in, it’s full of dodgy men.’

‘Oh,’ Scout said again, in a much more disappointed tone of voice this time. Then, ‘Ew.’

‘Let me have that,’ the Spy said.

‘Ew!’

‘No, not the magazine,’ the Spy said irritably without turning to look at Scout. He gestured to the parcel under Engineer’s arm. ‘That’s mine.’

‘How do you know?’ Engineer asked

‘Because it’s addressed to me. Can’t you read?’ Sometimes living with BLU felt like living with a bunch of illiterate children.

‘Course I can!’ Engineer argued, his round face turning red. ‘Just hadn’t looked at the label yet. That’s all.’ For a clever man, the BLU Engineer was very easy to harass and fluster. Nothing like his wolverine-mean RED equivalent.

As the Spy reached for his parcel, a commotion drew the attention of everyone in the kitchen.

‘Sounds like Medic,’ Engineer said.

‘And Sniper,’ Scout added, head cocked to the side to listen. Even Heavy looked up from his newspaper, though he made no attempt to move.

‘I’m gonna check it out,’ Scout said, racing from the room. He was always the first on the scene when two BLUs were arguing. Usually because he was one of them.

Spy tugged his parcel out from under Engineer’s arm just as Scout ran back in.

‘Sniper punched Medic! Sniper punched Medic! Right in the face!’ he crowed.

The Spy raised an eyebrow in surprise. The team’s taciturn Canadian rarely expressed anger, let alone acted on it. The Spy wished he’d been there to see it.

‘Good,’ Heavy said from behind his paper, and left it at that.

As much as he’d have liked to stick around to find out what was going and make fun of the Medic, the Spy had more important things to look into. Like this package. His heart rate sped up as he thought about what it must contain. Everything was falling into place.

 

'Are you, you know, okay, man?' Scout asked. The gentle buzz of the tattoo-gun paused. Sniper shifted behind Scout, cleared his throat, and said, 'Yeah.'

Right. So. Where were you supposed to go from there? Scout had asked and Sniper had said he was fine. Case closed. Except Scout was sure there really was something up with their Sniper. Ever since he'd woken up from having every shade of shit beaten out of him by those BLU assholes in town, he'd been... off. Quiet. Well, quieter than normal. He'd spent even less time hanging around the base than before, always off out in the woods or the shooting range or just hidden away in his van. He hadn't even eaten dinner with them the last couple of days. That one especially was strange because Engineer didn't usually let anyone get away with sneaking off to eat anything he'd cooked by themselves. Yesterday though, he'd just given Sniper this long, blank look and Sniper had grabbed his dinner and practically ran from the room. It was weird.

Then there was Sniper's scores on the battlefield. Scout had been, well, a bit nosy when it came to that. He'd been curious to see if Sniper's kill rate would drop off at the start of last week and then improve as the days went by and he got used to being back out on the battlefield. If any of Scout's teammates had known he'd been punching in the code to check out Sniper's scores, they probably would have accused him of doing it so he could make fun of Sniper. That was the reason he usually did it. This time though...maybe, just maybe, he'd been a little bit concerned for the guy. And then even more so once he'd seen how that gradual improvement he'd correctly predicted had plummeted after the weekend.

There was definitely something up with their Sniper. That's why Scout had badgered him into finishing the tattoo after Tuesday's match. Except Sniper had said he was fine and Scout had no idea where you went from there. And even if he'd said he wasn't, what then? Scout had been brought up by a tough mother and a host of older brothers. He hadn't been taught how to sit down and talk about emotional stuff or how to offer sympathy and support. He'd been brought up with punches on the shoulder and, 'Ehh, you'll get over it' or 'someone trying to bully you? Beat the shit out of 'em.'

Somehow Scout didn't think that approach would work here. So he dropped the subject and tried to distract Sniper with talk of a big upcoming baseball match he was looking forward to. Everyone liked baseball. That would help.

That night he knocked on the van door. When a groggy Sniper stuck his head out, Scout passed over the cat. 'Slut Cat's probably covered in fleas,' Scout said, 'so I thought you could have her.'

'Uh, thanks,' Sniper said, taking the docile cat off of him. She started purring straight away.

That was bound to help too.

 

Sniper slept well that night, purrs following him into his dreams, adding background acoustics to a long, nonsensical scene where he tried to clean the room he used to live in back at uni while the guy on the floor below practised electric guitar. Every time Sniper thought he'd got a corner of the room spotless, he'd turn around to find the area behind him a complete mess again. It was a frustrating dream but at least it wasn't one he woke up from sweating, his heart racing.

The night before last, he'd dreamt of Michelle's death again.

'Come on, Cat,' Sniper murmured, gentle scooping her out of the warm nest she'd made in his bedding so he could get back down again. 'You go and spend the day hunting mice and I'll spend the day...'

Miserable.

After his encounter with Engineer, Sniper had wanted to be mad. Furious. Motivated to prove himself to that hard-hatted bastard. Instead, all that anger had drained right out of Sniper as his jaw healed, as though the dispenser's fumes had drawn it out of him. He'd been left with the same hollow void he'd felt when he'd been arrested for Michelle's murder. The same hollow void he'd almost lost himself in when he was sentenced to life imprisonment. Not because of what it meant for him, but because it meant she was truly, irrevocably, gone.

Sniper found himself dwelling on Michelle throughout the day. His head felt muffled by thoughts of her, hands clumsy with regret, fingers fumbling with his rifle every time he tried to load it. Even the sharp pain of catching his thumb on the bolt couldn't drag him out of it.

Why couldn't respawn exist outside of this stupid little war? Why couldn't respawn have saved her? Why couldn't she have been allowed to live? Why couldn't he have got the answers to all the questions he still had?

The BLU Spy was never far from his thoughts either. Sniper wondered if he might be going mad. Ever since he'd returned to the field he'd noticed tiny little signs the enemy spy was around. The waft of cigarette smoke. The light creak of a floorboard. The prickle at the back of his neck. But no deaths. What was the BLU Spy up to? What was he planning?

As though to hammer home Engineer's criticisms of him been a worse sniper than the BLU, he died from a frustrating amount of headshots. They always seem to come just at the point that his mounting paranoia that the Spy was nearby reached its peak. It was as though the BLU didn't want to let the Spy get a single backstab on Sniper. Did those two really hate each other that much...or was there another reason the enemy Sniper always seemed to kill him just when he suspected the Spy was nearby?

Sniper didn't need anyone's pity or protection, let alone a BLU's. Engineer was right. If he couldn't even handle one damn spy without needing other people to look out for him, what good was he?

Just one headshot on the BLU Spy, just one victory or domination, and Sniper would be able to prove to himself that he _could_ do this. That he was worth his team's time. That he wasn't a waste of space and respawn.

But the BLU Spy remained a lurking shadow. An invisible threat. The ghost of a promise.

Sniper spiralled.

That evening (after a loss that Engineer said could have been avoided if, 'everyone had done their damn jobs,' while looking straight at Sniper), he polished off the last of the vodka. Two bottles of beer Demo had left in his van went down the next night, chased down by the dregs of a bottle of rum he discovered at the back of a cupboard.

This wasn't the right thing to do, Sniper knew that. It wasn't helping, not really, but he was desperate for some way to make himself feel better, for some way to fight off those hideous little moments of panic he couldn't stop.

He thought about seeking out Demo's company so he could get his hands on some more alcohol, but he couldn't stand the thought of having to explain what was going on with him in return.

How would Sniper even put it? 'Well, I've never really been okay since the morning I murdered the love of my life, and that was bloody years ago. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but more recently I've been having problems with the enemy Spy. I think he might have the hots for me, but in the creepiest, psychopathic way possible. He's kissed and groped and tortured me and it's really affecting my sense of masculinity here because I've been unable to do anything to get my own back on him.

'If that wasn't bad enough, I had that bunch of BLU bastards beat the shit out of me so badly that respawn could barely cope and I don't think I've been able to either. I keep getting these little moments of panic that come out of nowhere and I have no idea how to stop them. On top of all that, the BLU Medic tried using me as a pawn in his own vendetta against the BLU Spy. Oh, and one of our teammates wishes I was dead.'

Sniper couldn't do it. He couldn't say those things. Couldn't explain.

He went over the same things in his head again and again, drowning in memories of all he'd lost and how little he'd gained.

_Long, gentle kisses he thought he had a lifetime to deepen._

_A blade at his throat._

_The King of the Light standing over him._

_A groping hand he'd never felt but could never escape the knowledge of._

_A heavy boot slamming into his side._

_Waking up, a dark shape looming over him._

_Michelle's wide, staring eyes._

Sniper took his glasses off and buried his head in his hands. What a disaster of a human being he'd turned out to be. What a disappointment. What a waste of oxygen.

He found rubbing alcohol at the back of another cupboard. Common sense told him this was a terrible idea. Misery said, _why not?_

Sniper took a swig. His eyes widened, mouth scoured, throat burning. He bent over the van's sink, coughing and spluttering and gagging.

Miserable miserable idiot. What a bloody stupid thing to do. But he was stupid, Sniper knew. He'd spent all his school years being told that by teachers, fellow students and school reports alike. It may have been years ago but the fact had settled right down into the rock-solid foundations of his identity. Nathaniel Mundy was below average in every way. Nathaniel Mundy was a nobody. He'd killed his one true love and no one would ever care for a skinny, scruffy bastard like him in that way ever again.

'Good,' Sniper rasped, looking up from the sink to the cracked mirror on the wall next to him. Look at him. Dishevelled hair. Patchy stubble. Dark shadows like bruises under his freakish eyes. A great ugly scar gauged down his face. The man looking back at him out of the mirror wasn't worthy of love.

 

Minus the enemy Medic's interference, it had been years. Years since he'd taken any drugs stronger than the average painkiller. He didn't know what else to turn to though, not when the alcohol had run out and the one cigarette he'd stolen from RED Spy's smashed disguise kit during the day's match just made him cough and cough.

So, later that night, he crept back into the base and along to the infirmary. Guilt and anxiety twisted in his gut. He didn't want to do this. He shouldn't do this. But he desperately needed to find something that might keep him calm. Something to help all his problems recede, all his worries drift away, to smother all his anxieties. He'd be better out in the field with something strong to calm his nerves, Sniper was sure. He'd be better if he could sleep properly at night. Better if he didn't care anymore.

Medic had left the infirmary door closed but unlocked now Sniper was no longer staying in there. It was a show of trust that Sniper was about to prove unfounded.

He pushed the door open with a soundless apology to Medic and started searching through the first cupboard. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for, not really. Morphine? Codeine? Opioids? Sedatives? Would he be able to recognise what he needed when he saw it?

The first two cupboards were full of tiny little brown bottles with labels scribbled in Medic's messy handwriting. They were also in Danish, which didn't help at all.

Sniper glanced over at the door before rooting through the next cupboards. Beakers and cotton wool and needles and other various medical paraphernalia.

Sniper shut the door on the third with a snap. There was nothing but...bits, floating in formaldehyde in there. Not what he wanted and not what he'd expected from his team's doctor either. The BLU one, yes, he'd wanted Sniper's eyes after all, but RED Medic had always seemed sane in comparison.

Nervous excitement sparked in Sniper's chest as he opened the fourth cupboard. Inside was row after row of little boxes stacked neatly together like a doctor's version of tetris. He picked one box up, squinting at the label. Cimetidine? Was he even reading that right? What did it mean? What did it do?

Sniper picked up another. Cyclo—cyclo—sporin. Cyclosporin? His hands shook slightly as he reached for another. Rifampicin. This was ridiculous. Diethylstilbestrol. What about that? What would it do if he took it?

Sniper just wanted _something_ , anything, that would help him sleep at night or keep his shaking hands steady in battle or keep those panicky moments away or just let him relax, even a little.  
He sighed and hung his head. God, what was he doing with his life? Skulking around where he shouldn't be, riffling through prescription drugs when he knew he should just ask Medic for help. His hands tightened to fists on his knees. He couldn't. He didn't know how, and Medic had already seen him at his weakest so many times.

Sniper didn't want to be a burden to anyone on his team anymore.

'Now, Sniper,' a voice drawled from behind him. Sniper whipped his head around so fast it made a cracking noise. Engineer stood in the doorway, arms folded and eyebrows raised. 'Doc asked me to pick up his chess set on my way passed so I have every reason to be in here. What reason do you have to be in Medic's infirmary, searching through his prescription drugs?'

'Uh,' Sniper said, feeling a deer trapped in headlights. 'Painkillers!' he blurted. 'Got a headache.'

'Well there's the Done Something Stupid Dispenser for folks like you,' Engineer said pleasantly. 'No need to go pawing through Medic's things.'

'No!' Sniper agreed, jumping to his feet with an embarrassed little laugh as though he'd _totally_ forgotten all about the dispenser.

Engineer approached Medic's desk to pack away the chessboard there. He moved just a little closer to Sniper than he needed to to get there and Sniper took a wary step back that he immediately resented himself for.

He wasn't afraid of the short little bastard with his back to him, ignoring him now. He wasn't intimidated.

Sniper made to leave.

'You know what—.'

'What?' Sniper ground out through gritted teeth. He stopped just a couple of paces away from Engineer to try and show the stocky asshole didn't intimidate him. His own nervousness proved him wrong.

'Medic once had a problem with the BLU Spy too, you know.'

'Yeah,' Sniper said. He remembered.

'Do you know how our good 'ol Medic solved his little problem?'

'No,' Sniper admitted. Medic had never gone into detail about it.

'He caught the BLU Spy sneaking around in here and decided to show him what happens to people who go sticking their nose into his stuff. He hacked the BLU snake's head off with his bonesaw, all nice and bloody. Bits of bone and gristle went _all_ over the place.' Engineer gestured around the room with one hand, back still to Sniper as he packed up the chess pieces into their travel box.

'Then do you know what he did?'

Sniper said nothing, itching to leave and sure this story was going to have a sting to its tail, but unable to go until he knew its end.

'He used a non-team specific medigun formula to keep that snake's decapitated head alive.'

'Bullshit!' It burst out on Sniper in a bubble of anger. The curse hung in the air between them, Sniper half wishing he could take it back, half wishing Engineer would go for him so he had an excuse to lash out in return.

Engineer turned slowly to face Sniper, the infirmary lights bouncing off his goggles.

'Oh, I ain’t lying, boy.'

'That's bloody impossible. You can’t keep a severed head alive.'

'Anywhere else, yes. Here with respawn and mediguns and mad doctors? Anything is possible. So you better pray to whatever God cares about the sorry soul of a mercenary, that our good ol' doctor never finds about this.'

'Just wanted something for a headache,' Sniper said. There was a dab of truth to the statement but it was hardly a glimpse of the full picture.

'Sure you were,' Engineer said cheerfully, 'Sure you were.'

He left the infirmary and Sniper behind without a glance back, chess set tucked under his arm.

Sniper gave it a moment and then slunk out too, a chastised mutt with its tail between its legs.

He should have just gone to Medic.

Now Sniper was even less likely to than before, strung up at Engineer's mercy as he was. Engineer could drop the trapdoor at any time. Leave him dancing.

From what he'd seen, Sniper doubted there was much mercy in Engineer for the likes of him.

  
Friday brought another loss. This one, Sniper felt hardest. Demo had been so close to beating the enemy Pyro, both of them carrying the other’s final briefcase towards victory. All they would have needed to win the match was for someone to stop the BLU Soldier rocket jumping after an already wounded Demo.

A bullet between the eyes was all it would have taken, and Sniper had been in a prime position to deliver it. But he’d missed. He’d failed, so wrapped up in pessimistic thoughts that clung to him like parasites that he’d already written the day off as a loss.

If only he’d been paying more attention.

If only he hadn’t given up.

If only he’d had his rifle loaded…

So they lost for the fourth time that week. No five days of victory for the BLUs to go to town over, but the one victory out of five was far from enough to make that up to the REDs.

No one blamed Sniper, not even Engineer this time. They didn’t know. No one knew. Apart from Sniper.

‘Fuck, he muttered to himself once his team had wandered listlessly out of the respawn room in ones and twos.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Sniper kicked a locker, ones, twice, three times. His foot throbbed. He stamped around the room in circles, muttering and swearing to himself. The physical pain helped distract him from his thoughts. It did nothing for his mood though.

BLU Scout had seen him during the humiliation round. Found him hiding behind a stack of crates like a cowering child because if there was one time when Sniper feared BLU Spy returning to his cruel old ways the most, it was during a humiliation round.

The BLU Scout should have killed him, should have got it over with. Instead he’d turned and limped away, calling out to ask if BLU Engineer still had a dispenser up for his twisted ankle.

He could have done it. Should have done it.

The Sniper of a month ago would have acknowledged it as a favour returned. Sniper had spared the BLU Scout more than once in the past, so in response, the BLU Scout had spared him.

The Sniper of here and now was not that man. He couldn’t lift his head up above the hole he’d fallen into high enough to see the world from another person’s point of view. All he saw was what his own downcast thoughts allowed him to: that he was such a useless, worthless creature that even the BLUs pitied him too much to consider him a threat.

 

Sniper found and stole red wine from the kitchen that night with a silent apology to Spy. It probably wasn't even his. It wasn’t even good. Sniper discovered that on the first mouthful, thrown back in a glass that was intended for shots, not for wine at all. At least he wasn’t drinking it out of the bottle. That had to count for something, right?

Sniper leaned over to the counter in his van. He usually kept it clean and tidy, as old and scuffed as it was, but now his fingers knocked against plates and bottles as he reached for the battered little radio at the back. He'd pulled it from the storage space under the seating, delighted to find it worked. Just for a moment, anyway. A welcome little ember that had faded away again despite his attempts to make it kindle.

Silence had never bothered him before. Now it stretched from one horizon to another and Sniper had to fill it. He turned the dial, trying to tune into any station he could find. The old radio and the poor reception out here in the middle of nowhere made it an irritatingly delicate job. Finally he found a frequency that was more that just static and the odd, distorted warble. A weather report. Nothing interesting. Rain was on its way, they said. Just in the morning, then the sky would clear and the sun would come out. Who knew where they were talking about though.

He tossed back another shot of the sour wine. Cooking wine, it has to be. Still, better than giving the rubbing alcohol another go.

Another shot. Well, just about better.

A peppy song started playing on the radio. Something he'd never heard before. Something new. What a racket.

Sniper sloshed red wine all over his hand trying to pour himself another glass. 'Fuck it,' he muttered, and took a swig straight from the bottle.

He was three quarters of the way through the bottle when he froze, bottle halfway to his lips. They'd started to play the song. _Her_ song. The familiar chords plucked from memories of a happier time. Paul McCartney's voice singing with a mournful kind of longing:

_Michelle, ma belle._

_These are words that_ — _'_

'Go together well,' Sniper joined in at a whisper. 'Michelle, ma belle...'

He slumped back into the corner of the seating, the next lines slurring together less because of the drink and more because he'd never really managed to get his tongue around French. Michelle had always laughed when he'd tried. So he'd kept on trying, just to hear her laugh.

'I love you, I love you, I love you,' Sniper joined in, louder, his voice flat. 'That's all I want to say, until I find a way...' he trailed off with a heavy sigh, taking another swig of wine.

_Michelle, ma belle_ __  
_Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble_ _  
_ _Tres bien ensemble._

'I need to, I need to, I need to. I need to make you see,' Sniper's voice cracked. 'What you mean to me...' He broke off, closing his eyes tight as the rest of the song washed over him, each word so bitter sweet it was like poison on his tongue.

'...my Michelle,' Sniper whispered as the song drew to a close. The radio host returned, chatting cheerfully the guest speaker who'd chosen the song. Sniper leant over and turned the radio off. No more. Not tonight. No more.

Sniper finished the rest of the wine, letting the bottle clink to the ground at his feet. He knew he should get up. Knew he should get changed. Knew he should go to bed.

Sniper could barely keep his eyes open. Just a few minutes slumped in the corner of his seating. Just a few. Then he'd go to bed. Then he would.

He closed his eyes. Fell asleep. Maudlin thoughts chased him under.

An hour later, he awoke. A familiar scent seemed to cloak him, a suffocating blanket of memory. Michelle's perfume. The one she'd always worn since the day he first bought it for her.

Dreams could be so cruel.

Sniper blinked open heavy eyes.

Michelle stood before him.

‘Nath?’ she asked, her voice hushed like this was a church and his name was God’s.

_Michelle, ma belle…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter- [The Beatle's Michelle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_AWhTCIQdk4) All credit for the lyrics goes to the band.


	51. Persona Non Grata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to ChaosandMayhem for looking this one over for me! And the boyfriend too, who also gave me the idea for the chapter title months ago.  
> Brilliant art by [Bogling!](https://bogling.deviantart.com/gallery/) Click the name for a link to their DA account :) (Warning for some minor nudity.)

_Michelle, ma belle…_

Sniper stared. Michelle.

She was dead.

Had to be dead.

Had to be gone.

And yet…

She shifted a little closer. Sniper flinched, as though she might lean forward and slit his throat.

‘Michelle,’ he mouthed, the words dying in his throat, just as she had died…

Respawn.

Mediguns.

Teleporters.

Ubercharges.

The impossible made possible.

Why not?

Why not for her?

Sniper knew, deep deep down. He knew. But he wanted it so much to be true. So desperately that if his want and hope and need were things that could be harnessed, they’d power entire cities until the day Sniper died.

She stepped closer, moonlight highlighting the edges of her halo of hair. A soft smile tugged at her full lips. Her perfume filled the air. Sniper reached a slow, trembling hand towards her, heart trembling along with it.

He expected his hand to pass right through her.

He expected to wake up any second, heart aching and eyes prickling.

He expected her to turn to dust at his touch.

Sniper's fingers brushed her bare arm. Warm. Alive. Real.

He drew in a shuddering breath.

'Aren't you happy to see me?'

'I—' Sniper said. His throat clicked as he swallowed. 'Yes!' It came at in a gasp, a hollow sound that spoke of years of wishing when no hope remained.

'Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?' Michelle asked, lips quirking up into the playful smile Sniper had never thought he'd see again.

‘How?’ he mouthed, the word stuck in his throat. _Why?_ touched the back of his tongue. Why was she here? For revenge? ‘That morning...’ Sniper said, voice hoarse.

Michelle shook her head, eyes soft. ‘Forget about that morning.’

Oh God, just to hear her voice again, her American accent underlined with just a touch of the Jamaican one she’d picked up from her mother. He’d always loved it when that side came through strongest.

‘I —’

‘Nath, it’s okay. It’s okay.’

Sniper shook his head wordlessly, a lump in his throat. No it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay. He bent forward, collapsing down to bury his head in his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ he croaked, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never—I would never—’ the lump in his throat cut off the rest of his words.

A hand touched his shoulder in comfort. A shuddering breath escaped him.

‘Shh, shh, I know. I know you’ve always loved me. I know you would never wish any harm on me.’

‘Yes,’ Sniper agreed, his voice small, throat still constricted. ‘I should have told you though.’

‘Told me what?’ Michelle’s voice remained light, calm, not a note of accusation or anger in it. It was more than he deserved.

‘The knife,’ he said, looking up at her with pleading eyes. ‘The one my Dad gave me that I used to keep in the top drawer. I should have told you I’d been hiding it under the pillow. Should have warned you I was feeling...jumpy ever since my last...workplace accepted my resignation.’

Sniper had always been as vague as he could about his career as an assassin. He hadn’t been able to stand the thought of dragging her into that side of his life. They’d let him go so easily though, as though they’d known it was coming. Sniper had thought he’d been subtle enough with the assignments he’d refused and his overall reluctance to keep on shooting people for a living. But it had all worked out _too_ smoothly.

He’d known there was a chance retribution would be coming. He should have warned Michelle. What guarantee was there that a knife hidden under a pillow would be enough to stop a fellow assassin? He'd been a fool.

‘The knife you used on me,’ Michelle said with a sigh.

Sniper winced.. Some hurts ran so deep. Some wrongs could never be forgiven. How couldMichelle be here and not going striking out in revenge? How could Michelle be here…

How could she be alive?

Who told her how to find him?

How had she managed to travel out here?

How—

'I forgive you, Nathaniel.'

Sniper sucked in a breath, heart aching.

'How?'

'Time heals all wounds.'

Sniper couldn't agree on that. He'd never been able to forgive himself for what happened. Never let himself forget. And the wound Michelle's death left in his heart had never healed.

Except here she was...

Here was the love of his life, alive, returned to him. And she forgave him.

Michelle's hand ran down his arm, leaving goose-flesh in its wake. Sniper’s thoughts ran in dizzy little circles. He felt drunk and high and euphoric and ill all at the same time.

'I forgive you.' She moved to cup his chin, stubble rasping against her palm. She tilted Sniper's head back and he let her, eyes flickering across every freckle he could see in the low light, across every curl in her hair and every curve of her body.

_Michelle, ma belle…_

Sniper held his breath, terrified one wrong move might snap the illusion and cause Michelle to fadefrom existence.

Her lips were soft against his. A shaky little sound escaped him, something lost and frightened but hopeful, oh so hopeful.

Her hands drifted to his shoulders, holding him in place as she deepened the kiss. Electricity sparked down Sniper’s spine, his lips tingling where Michelle’s touched his.

He felt then, even if just for a moment, that everything in the world has fallen into place. As if everything bad that had happened to him had been erased. As if, after all he’d been through, things were finally going to be okay.

All of his senses seemed to be sharper than ever before, as if he’d wandered through life in a haze and only now had the smog cleared from around him, leaving behind perfect, beautiful clarity.

The taste of mint.

Michelle’s warm hands on his shoulders.

Her teeth scraping against his bottom lip.

The scent of her shampoo.

Michelle’s hands slipping over his shoulders, fingers grazing against his back.

Fabric softener.

Perfume.

Cigarette smoke.

Sniper froze, lips parted. The BLU Spy took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss further, tongue brushing against Sniper’s.

Sniper made a deep, despairing sound in the back of his throat, like a wounded animal, and shoved the intruder away.

Blue sparks rippled away from the rough contact as “Michelle” stumbled backwards.

Sniper made a choked noise. He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, fingers digging into his scalp, and curled up on the seating as he was swamped by grief and horror.

Gone.

Gone

Dead.

Michelle.

Ma belle.

He should have known.

He shouldn’t have let himself wish.

Let himself hope.

For just those few moments…

He’d let himself believe.

But there was no Michelle.

But there was no forgiveness.

No hope.

Only the BLU Spy.

 

‘And here I thought you’d never harm me…’ “Michelle” said, her voice twisted into an ugly facsimile of itself, coy and cruel..

Sniper buried his head in his hands with a hoarse moan of pain. This wound, above all else the world had dealt him, cut the deepest.

‘But I guess you just can’t help it.’ There again, coy and cruel. ‘You are a murderer, after all.’

Sniper shook his head, curling up tighter.

‘Are you trying to deny it? We both know you can’t.’

Sniper shook his head again.

The floor creaked as “Michelle” took a step closer.

‘And you killed me. Can you deny that?’

Sniper shook his head once more, chest constricting.

_Not you._

_Not you._

_Not you._

_Her._

_ _

‘You're a murderer who killed his own fiancée. What did I do to deserve it, Nathaniel? Did I realise what you were? Did I try and leave?’

‘No,’ Sniper whispered.

‘Did we argue? Did it hurt you to hear the love of your life tell you what a worthless excuse of a man you were?’

‘No. No no _no!_ ’

‘Did you catch me in bed with another man? Is that how you found me that morning? Was I laid back on the mattress, legs spread wide, moaning another man’s name as he gave it to me like you never could?’

Anger, brittle but fierce.‘No!’Sniper forced himself to uncurl, forced himself to face the spectre haunting him. His head was spinning, making him feel sick. Too much had happened. Too much. And he understood hardly any of it.

‘No! It wasn’t anything like that!’ His voice cracked by the end.

“Michelle” tipped her head, lips pursed into a mocking smile. ‘Than what was it, Nath? What made you kill the one person in your life who might actually have loved you?’

‘I—It—.’ Sniper drew in a shaky breath.

‘It was self-defence.’

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here at last is the MichelleXNath playlist for your listening delights.  
>  I saved it until this, the most appropriate of chapters. It's also my favourite of the Foe Yay playlists so please do give it a listen!  
>  (It's only on Youtube this time due to how restricted 8tracks has become.)  
> 
> 
> [](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtiIU8kGA62TtQchYpQfThizgga1BvcF3)  
>  [Click here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtiIU8kGA62TtQchYpQfThizgga1BvcF3) Cover by MaketheShippingStop!


	52. The Truth Will Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday, have another chapter

RED Spy was an insomniac. The problem wasn’t as bad as it used to be, when half of his mysterious appearing and disappearing at odd hours was due to his unreliable sleeping pattern, but he still had a habit of roaming the base when others were asleep.

Currently it was six-thirty in the morning, an unfortunate but perfectly reasonable time to be getting up if you didn’t work until midnight every night and made the early hours of the morning your evening time. However, by Doublecross time, it was decidedly early. And he couldn’t sleep.

Knowing his next-to-non-existent chances of going back to sleep, Spy dragged himself to the showers. He remained cloaked. He wasn’t awake enough yet to pull his clothes on properly but he didn’t want another repeat of the Sniper and dispenser incident.

The shower helped. Not a lot, but it helped. Enough to give Spy the energy to put his suit and mask on, though the tie might have been a little more crooked than normal.

Coffee. That’s what he needed.

Except, by the time reached the kitchen, Spy remembered throwing an empty package of coffee beans out the day before. A search through his usual cupboard proved disappointingly fruitless.

Spy sighed and dragged himself to his feet. His eyes drifted to another cupboard in the corner. His supply had ran out...but Sniper’s hadn’t.

It was instant, not his usual kind of thing. But from the one mug of it he'd stolen, not all that bad, considering. And since he’d bought it, Sniper surely wouldn’t begrudge him another cup, surely?

Spy popped the lid off the tin and went to stick a tea spoon in. He stopped, squinting in confusion.

_What on earth?_

He pulled the item out and held it up to the light.

_Now what do we have here?_

 

‘Self defence? Oh of course! Any six-foot-four assassin with a machete and a sniper rifle could be forgiven for killing innocent women in _self defence,’_ “Michelle” said with a mocking pout and rolled eyes.

Sniper shook his head, hands shaking as he clenched them into fists. He forced himself to take a deep breath, voice only wavering slightly as he confessed what little he knew of the truth for the first time in years.

No one had believed him. After all this time and all his unanswered questions, sometimes Sniper doubted it himself.

‘I don’t understand. I don’t know what...what happened. I don’t know why you—she did it. All I know is that I went to sleep next to my fiancée one night and I...and I…’

Sniper found himself struggling to breath. His heart hammered erratically in his chest and there were dark flickers across his eyes every time he blinked.

‘I…’ he forced himself to try and calm down, willing the panic attack away. It didn’t work

‘I woke up to her…’

He clawed at his throat, the memories of that morning too vivid, too fresh, too agonising to escape. He’d tried so hard to push it down. Tried so hard to block it out.

_A hand to his throat, blood pouring between his fingers._

Sniper took a deep breath, half convinced that he would draw blood, not air, into his lungs.

“Michelle” tipped her head to the side like a curious bird, listening.

‘It didn't go deep enough. It didn’t… I didn’t die.’

_Fat red droplets splattering down onto the white bedsheets._

‘And I—I...Oh God. Oh God. I didn’t mean to. I would never—’

_The damp, gristly sound._

‘The knife under my pillow…’

_The dull thunk of a blade embedded to the hilt._

‘I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to! If I’d known it was her, I wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have… All I knew was I was under attack. And then… and then it was too late.’ Sniper stared up at the horror in front of him with pleading eyes. He didn’t know himself whether it was forgiveness or understanding or just an end to this all that he needed most.

_The phone just out of reach._

He’d killed her. He’d taken his knife and he’d stabbed the love of his life.

_Michelle’s desperate little gasps._

‘I managed to call an ambulance. They took us to hospital. But she—she never made it. She never made it.’

They informed him of his arrest as soon as he woke up and moved him to a secure hospital.

The neighbours testified against him. The racist old couple who complained about Michelle and him every chance they got, claiming junk thrown in their garden, blasting music at night. Arguments. Terrifying, bellowing arguments. None of it true, all of it down to other people in the neighbourhood or their own imaginations. They just didn’t want a black woman living in the house next door, and they didn’t want a foreign white man who wanted to marry one either.

They said they thought they’d heard another argument the evening before when first questioned. By the time it came to the trial, they’d convinced themselves of it.

It was a calculated attack, the prosecution said. Door forced open from the outside to make it look like a break-in. Valuables shoved into a bag to make it look like a burglary. A dead body to make it look like a burglary gone horribly wrong.

Would have worked too, if the poor woman hadn’t woken up when her fiancée tried to kill her. If she hadn’t wrestled a knife away from him. Struck out at him. Wounded him. Allowed him to be caught red-handed.

‘He always was an odd one,’ the woman from next door had said, standing in the witness box. ‘I mean, just look at his eyes…’

None of it had been true. None of it. But if Sniper hadn’t set things up, then who?

Some days he tried to force himself to remember another person there that morning, tried to remember waking up to another figure above him. But in his memories and in his dreams, it was always Michelle. Always Michelle.

Why?

Why had she done it?

Why?

Sniper had been in no fit state to defend himself when questioned, not when he understood so little and all explanations wilted to dust on his tongue.

 

Sniper blinked hard against the pressure behind his eyes.

If the BLU Spy had tried this at any other point in time, maybe Sniper would have found a way to hold himself together enough to hide his hurt. There was no defence left for him now though. No willpower strong enough. No pride or dignity. Just self-loathing and the bottomless hole he’d fallen down so far down he couldn’t see the light anymore.

Sniper allowed his head to bow forward, hand falling away from his throat.

He didn’t care. Not anymore.

Let the Spy stab him in the back a thousand times over. Let him try and find if the pressure point hurt half as much as all of this had.

What was there left that the Spy could use against him? What else could possibly wound as this had?

The BLU Spy gave no indication as to what information was new, he just kept up that smug little pout on Michelle’s face.

‘Undisguise,’ Sniper said abruptly, voice too hoarse to sound authoritative. ‘Stop pretending to be her. It’s sick.’

The shame was startling to trickle in, the shame of not realising straight away.

‘Don’t like what you see?’ “Michelle” asked. ‘I thought this might make things easier.’

‘Easier?’ Sniper didn’t know what the BLU Spy had in mind, didn’t _want_ to know, but whatever it was, the disguise had made it insurmountably worse.

‘You see,’ the BLU Spy said as his disguise rippled away to reveal his real self, dressed in his full suit and mask, ‘I have a deal for you.’

Sniper barely reacted. He ran his hands down his face, emotionally exhausted, spirits tattered to pieces, soul crushed. What would he have to cope with now? A part of him, an aching, hollow part, knew that whatever it was, he wouldn’t be able to.

The BLU Spy stepped in close again. His proximity made Sniper’s skin crawl. The pout from before had become a sneer on the BLU Spy’s thin lips.

‘It’s a good deal,’ he promised. Sniper knew better than to believe him. ‘You’ll benefit from it too, I promise. You just have to do me… a little favour, here and there. Once or twice a week, nothing too demanding.’

‘What kind of favours?’ Sniper asked, his voice flat. He already knew the answer.

‘Oh, whatever I want, really,’ the BLU Spy said, grey eyes alight. He placed a bare hand on Sniper’s knee. Sniper flinched away.

‘And why...why would I want to do any “favours” for you?’ he ground out through gritted teeth.

A desperate tangle of possible futures spun out in every direction, none of them bearable.

Sniper couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to do it, no matter the cost.

‘Because if you don’t, I’ll make sure your teammates know all about poor little Michelle.’

‘I—’ Sniper said, I—'

No. Nononono.

Another future spread out before him, one where every member of RED knew his secret.

They were killers, all of them. It shouldn’t have mattered. But Sniper’s crime hadn’t been that of a professional, it had been that of a madman. How could Sniper look his team in the eyes everyday if they knew how he’d stabbed his fiancée to death in bed? How could they trust someone like that? How could they stand to have his back, to spend time with him, to eat dinner and joke with him?

Sniper had never realised how much he’d come to value his teammates until he thought of their reactions. Of noisy little Scout who’d just started to warm up to him, shying away in disgust. Of Demo’s offers or drink nights drying up on the spot. Of Pyro watching him warily through their mask whenever he got angry. Of Engineer turning his back on Sniper, muttering about how this was just the sort of thing he’d expect from the likes of him.

They knew of his first murder. He’d just been a child then, a desperate child trying to defend himself.

He wasn’t that boy anymore. And even if he tried to explain, how many of them would believe him? Still to this day, Sniper had no idea why the events of that morning had taken place.

Sniper swallowed. ‘Why would they listen to you?’ he said, knowing full-well that the thought of BLU Spy even planting the seed of the idea in his teammates’ heads was too much.

Ten years. Ten years he was stuck here. Ten impossible, unsurvivable years.

‘Oh, they don’t need to listen to a word I have to say. In fact, I’m not going to tell them anything. All they have to do is look…’ The BLU Spy let a short silence hang between them as Sniper tried to work out what he meant.

‘For every favour you do me this week, I’ll remove one of the pieces of oh-so-damning information I’ve hidden around your base.’

Sniper felt like the BLU Spy had just punched him in the chest. ‘What?’ he gasped. Horror slowly sunk into the back of his mind.

‘And keep me happy and I won’t hide any more. All you need to say is yes to me, Sniper. All I need to hear is a yes.’

‘No,’ Sniper whispered. ‘God, no.’

The BLU Spy narrowed his cold eyes. ‘So you want your team to know? You want to live with the knowledge every night and day that whenever your teammates look at you, they remember that you, more than any of them, is a true _psychotic_ murderer?’

‘No!’ Hadn’t the BLU Spy being listening? It wasn’t Sniper’s fault! He’d never wanted it to happen! Never meant for it to happen!

But they couldn’t know. He couldn’t live with that.

Sniper stood up.

The BLU Spy stepped back, a sneer twisting his lips, one hand going to the pocket where he kept his knife.

‘Don’t bother looking for them, Sniper. It doesn’t matter how many you find, I’ll hide more. You’ll spend the rest of your days here knowing your teammates could stumble across your secret any second. I could even slip an article under a bedroom door or two if I really wanted.

'There’s only one way this can end, Sniper.’

‘No,’ Sniper said again, voice dull.

He pushed himself past Spy and staggered for the door.

Spy lunged after him. His fingers dug into Sniper’s back like a biting spider just as Sniper’s palm slapped against the closed door. Sniper hissed in a breath as a thumb pressed into his back. For a moment, there was nothing, then the BLU Spy dug his thumb in an inch lower.

Pain exploded through Sniper, a wildfire blazing up and down his spine. He cried out, legs buckling. He clawed at the door, fingers catching on the latch. The door swung open. Sniper pitched out of it.

He fell into the dirt, and lay there for one winded second. He scrambled back to his feet and ran for it. Once Sniper's shaking legs decided to cooperate, he picked up speed, running straight for the base.

'There's no other way!' the BLU Spy called after him from the doorway, voice twisted in anger. 'You have to say yes! There's no other way out, Sniper!'

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've loved hearing people explain what their theories about Michelle were as we've gone along, and if you haven't shared already, I'd love to hear what yours was!


	53. Point Blank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are blessed. Not just one piece of art, but two this chapter!
> 
> The first is by my lovely friend, [Arcy.](http://shadow-arcanist.tumblr.com) (If you ever get this far Arcy, hello!)
> 
> The second, [Maketheshippingstop](http://maketheshippingstop.tumblr.com/) has been sitting on for MONTHS. I'm delighted we can finally share it with you!

Spy smoothed out the folded piece of paper out on the kitchen table. It was a photocopy of a newspaper article from several years before. Just a short one, no picture to go with it, about a murderer sentenced to life imprisonment. Nothing all that special in a country where an average of forty four people a day were murdered.

Added to the three other articles Spy had found hidden around the room though, and it painted a very concerning picture.

Spy knew Sniper’s name. He knew what crime he’d gone to prison for. He also thought he knew who must have hidden all these slips of paper.

To begin with, Spy had thought Sniper might have stored the first one where he thought it wouldn’t be found, but one mug of coffee later and Spy was awake enough to decide that would be a very strange thing to do, even for their slightly strange Sniper.

The second article on top of the fridge and the third one one hidden in the light fitting confirmed it. There was no chance Sniper had done this himself. So who?

The answer was obvious.

Spy had sneaked into the BLU base numerous times. He’d even performed the odd act of minor sabotage after particularly gruelling defeats (and once, on a drunken dare given to him by Demo. Never again.) Finding evidence the enemy Spy had not only been doing the same, but that he’d had no idea, made his hackles rise. Spies were like cats, they would usually tolerate the sight of each other from a distance, but they couldn’t stand others in their territory.

Spy sighed and stood up to stretch. He arched his back, feeling the vertebrae crack. It looked as though he’d better spend the rest of his early start searching the the kitchen, and probably the whole base, for more of these.

Not for the first time, he cursed his younger self for looking up to the BLU Spy. The cruel schoolboy pranks should have been enough of a warning to him, an indicator of what that boy was going to grow up to become…

Sniper was not going to be happy about these. He hadn’t been happy about anything recently, but Spy couldn’t blame him. He just wished Sniper was more willing to talk about it, or that he would get a good few kills on the BLU Spy soon to cheer himself up.

Not that that would work if the rest of the team stumbled across one of these little notes… It didn’t bother Spy, or at least, he told himself it didn’t affect his opinion of Sniper. Spy had worked with many killers over time, including an incredibly talented young woman who’d already poisoned three husbands by the time he met her. Murder was just another part of the business.

It had to matter to Sniper, though, if the BLU Spy was attempting to use it against him.

Spy decided to warn him at breakfast. Chances are, all it would do was make Sniper even more miserable than he seemed to be already, but it was best to warn him in case Spy’s treasure hunt didn’t unearth every scrap.

It was as Spy dug through the fridge for a second time, gingerly poking aside a decidedly rotten looking steak, that he heard rapid footsteps. He thought little of it at the time though, just forced himself to move a little faster; he needed to be done with the kitchen by the time the others woke up for breakfast.

Spy found one more copy of the original article in a bowl of apples Sniper liked but no one else did. (Every time Medic saw Sniper eat one, he made a joke about Sniper trying to keep him away, to which Sniper would usually profuse was not the case through a mouthful of apple.) That seemed to be it for the kitchen though. Where next? Where did Sniper favour? He didn't use his designated quarters, so Spy didn't think the BLU would hide them there. There was a pattern emerging here, after all. The BLU Spy seemed to have hidden the newspaper clippings and photocopied articles in places where technically anyone could find them, but Sniper was most likely to. Only Heavy was taller than him after all, but it was unlikely the Russian would pay much notice to a scrap of paper on top of the fridge or in the light fitting.

Whatever nasty little game the BLU Spy was playing, he intended Sniper to find evidence of it.

So where else would he target? Sniper's van was the next obvious choice but these other articles had all been in a public place... Still, it left Spy unsettled to think of the enemy Spy in Sniper's van again. Sniper was a grown man, he could look after himself...but this was the BLU Spy they were talking about. Nothing in life could prepare someone for the likes of him.

Spy decided he really should check in the van, even if it led to him being attacked by a groggy six-foot-four Australian with a kukri. First though, he'd swing by the only other place inside the base that Sniper had left personal belongings in.

Spy's thoughts returned to the footsteps he'd heard and dismissed just now. No one had appeared in the kitchen and if they'd entered the rec room next door, Spy would have heard. No showers running, no flushing toilets, no banging doors. Who had it been?

Spy's train of thought came off the rails and crashed headlong into horror as he stepped into respawn.

Across from him, eight man-sized respawn modules stood to attention, their class symbols glowing a steady green. The ninth however, sandwiched between Spy's and Medic's modules, pulsed with a light as red as the class patch it matched.

Spy stared, eyes wide as Sniper's respawn module bathed the otherwise unlit room in red over and over.

For the first time in years, that colour meant danger.

For a moment, Spy's mind went blank. Then his training kicked in. Act swiftly and surely. Don't panic. Don't let adrenaline take control.

 

Medic snapped awake at the sound of knuckles rapping against his bedroom door. Years of late-night and early-morning emergencies had trained him to go from fast asleep to fully alert within seconds. He scrabbled for his glasses on the bedside table, almost knocking them off, and threw back the covers.

'Who is it?' he called, putting on the glasses and grabbing his dressing gown off the back of the door. If Soldier had got his head stuck in another toilet seat, Medic would not be happy.

'It's Spy,' his teammate answered from the other side of the door. 'I think we have an emergency on our hands.' Medic's thoughts immediately jumped to Sniper as he hurriedly tugged his dressing gown on and opened the door. The first thing he did was punch Spy in the chest.

Spy stumbled back slightly with a grunt but didn't protest the treatment. When no blue static radiated away from his chest, Medic asked, 'What's happened? BLU Spy?'

'Yes. He's found a way to take Sniper out of respawn.'

Medic swore under his breath, shock turning to anger almost immediately.

'Where's Sniper? Is he still alive?'

'I don't know. To both of those. I'm going straight to the van. Grab your medigun and then come find me. Watch your back.'

Medic gave a sharp nod, turning away without another word. They headed in separate directions, Medic dashing into the infirmary, Spy making his way out of the base. Medic's hands shook with a nervous energy he rarely ever experienced out in the field these days, no matter how intense the fight.

On the battlefield it was never really life and death. Here it was.

Old memories bit at his heels as Medic rushed to grab his medigun. Another base, another team, so many years ago.

A sabotaged respawn machine.

_They were supposed to have fixed the issue. This wasn't ever meant to happen again._

A team asleep in their bed until they were woken by screams.

_It would never happen again. They promised._

Pyro's, it had turned out. Medic didn't know at the time. He'd never heard the poor boy scream before.

_They'd promised._

One lone man trying to keep an immortal team suddenly turned mortal alive. That damn BLU Engineer and his twisted plans and twisted smile.

_How could BLU Spy have done this?_

 

BLU Spy paused, listening to someone run along the next corridor. His Sniper, it had to be. Everything had been going so well, been set-up so perfectly. Spy simply couldn't see where he'd gone wrong.

He should be in Sniper's bed by now, not sneaking around the RED base. Spy had his Ambassador in his hand, anger and bitterness clenching his fist tight around it.

When he found his Sniper... when he found him.... What would he do?

He wanted, desperately wanted to shoot to incapacitate and just take Sniper on the floor wherever he found him. This game had been going on for too long, far too long. Spy needed a resolution to it. He needed a happy ending to all this.

Part of him, some part of him that was still the small boy huddled in the room next his mother's, pretending not to hear, told him no. Told him he'd gone too far.

The Spy crushed it down, drowning the thoughts out with silent laments as he crept towards the source of the footsteps.

He'd had it all planned out. All his Sniper had to do was play his part.

The Spy would have been careful, attentive, ticking off every step of his plan to make sure everything went perfectly.

They would have started off small, started off slow. Each session the Spy would take another piece of Sniper's clothing off, explore a little more. They'd kiss again, chasté kisses at first, perhaps with Spy in a disguise if it made Sniper more comfortable, then they'd delve deeper.

The Spy would wind Sniper up and up and up until he begged for it, and after that, everything would be about Sniper's pleasure. The Spy would send Sniper to paradise each time they met up for one of Spy's little 'favours,' until Spy had him trained like one of Pavlov's dogs. Instilling fear in him had been fun, planting the pressure point even more so, but it was time Sniper came to associate the Spy's presence with something else altogether.

It wouldn't take long, the Spy was sure. Not long at all until Sniper realised how trustworthy Spy could really be. How kind, how generous. Or how much he owed Spy for services rendered...

Then, and only then, would Spy finally allow himself his hard-won prize.

But despite all his work, despite all his planning and consideration, Sniper had torn everything to pieces and thrown it back in his face.

The Spy couldn't forgive him for that.

 

Sniper stumbled to a halt. He turned around unsteadily, arms loose at his side. 'No one, no one,' he muttered to himself as he scanned the outline of the base and the trees behind him. He tapped the gun in his right hand against his thigh rhythmically, hands trembling.

'No one no one no one no one _no one_ —’

No one about.

No one who cared.

No one to stop him.

Sniper's shallow breathing paused for a moment as he swallowed against a lump in his throat.

Then he was off again. Six paces forward, swing around, six passes back, shoes kicking up dust.

A bubble of hysterical laughter welled up, coming out as a strangled sound, as he thought about what a good thing it was he'd fallen asleep dressed. So he didn't have to do this in his boxer shorts.

That he didn't have to do this...

Had to do this.

At least he'd get to keep some dignity.

'No one no one, oh God, Michelle.'

He scratched at his throat, nails running down the old scar.

He hiccuped, the sound a barely-suppressed sob.

Inside Sniper's head, should have-could have-would haves span around him in dizzying circles. He couldn't think straight. Couldn't focus. Couldn't bear it. Couldn't stop it.

Couldn't stop it.

Stop it.

Stop it.

STOP IT.

'Nonononono—no. NO.'

Couldn't bear it couldn't bear it couldn't bear it—

Sniper turned on his heels, heading straight for one of the targets he'd left up after practising yesterday. He punched it, fist smacking into the battered surface. It teetered and Sniper punched it again, knocking it flat. He kicked it. Kicked it again and again and again, a wordless scream welling up in his throat.

Then it clicked. How those BLUs had done this to him. Kicked and punched and kicked. He turned away, breathing hard, and staggered a few steps away from the target.

Nath let himself fall to his knees, a cloud of dust rising up. He grabbed handfuls of his hair, the SMG in his hand cracking against the side of his head as he did so.

Nath didn't care.

Didn't care.

Didn't care.

He dug his fingers in tighter.

Nath wanted it to hurt.

He let his hands fall away, gun settling into his lap.

This was going to hurt.

But just for a moment.

Then it would be over.

Then all of this would.

Just.

Stop.

The gun was cold in his hands. Nath didn't use his SMG much on the battlefield. Didn't value it like the pieces of art his other weapons were. He tended to leave it in respawn to grab in case he realised he'd forgotten a weapon and didn't have time to go back to his van.

Good thing (bad thing) that he had.

Or he wouldn't have it now.

Nath's hands shook as he took the weapon up in both hands, index finger on the trigger. His breath came out in sharp little gasps as he closed his eyes.

Just for a moment.

Then it would all be over.

 

His fingers jerked in surprise as a sound caught his ears: footsteps approaching.

The safety was still on. Nath fumbled to slide it off, fingers clumsy and numb.

Who was it?

How long did he have?

Would they try and stop him?

Stop him.

Stop.

But this was the only way to end this.

The only way the BLU Spy wouldn't get what Nath could never stand to give him.

Nath's grip on the SMG tightened as the hurried footsteps approached but no one came into sight.

'Nononono,' he muttered.

The BLU Spy. It had to be.

Of all the people.

Nath didn't want him here for this.

Would he try to stop him?

Or would this be the Spy’s ultimate victory over him?

Nath had to do it now.

Head or heart?

Head or heart?

Both should guarantee a quick death. Not painless, but quick.

Head, he decided, turning the gun towards his face.

He was a sniper after all. It would be the most appropriate way to go.

_Do it._

_Do it now._

His hands shook.

_There's no other way out._

_End this._

The BLU Spy uncloaked just a few steps away. Nath's gaze flickered from his wide eyes to his ambassador, levelled directly at Nath's head.

The BLU Spy's hands were shaking too.

So this was it then.

This was how it would end.

Their cat and mouse game finally finished, the cat fed-up with playing with his food.

One more win for the BLU.

One final loss for Nath.

He should have known.

Nath let the SMG fall into his lap.

Maybe he could have tried to shoot the Spy first, but there's no way he'd do it in time.

No point in trying,

No point.

No.

Nath lifted his chin, looking the BLU Spy directly in the eyes.

This was what he wanted, Nath reminded himself.

_(No, not what he wanted. What he needed.)_

An end to all this. Not a happy one. But an end all the same.

 

_**Bang.** _

 


	54. Catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, hasn't it? I've had other obligations, health issues, work, etc going on. But here we are again :)  
> Big thanks to the boyfriend for not only proof reading but naming the chapter once again!
> 
> [Snowdandy's](https://snowdandy.tumblr.com/) been working on and off on a fantastic piece of art for this chapter about as long as I've been working on the chapter and we both finished things up to day! Perfect timing.

Sniper flinched, heart jolting in his chest. His eyes snapped open. BLU Spy took a staggering step forward, staring straight at him. The gun slipped from the BLU Spy’s fingers and fell to the ground. He crumpled down after it, dead.

Sniper blinked. He was alive. He was still alive. Relief swept over him, leaving him light headed and dazed.

He looked down to the SMG in his hands as someone hurried over to him from behind.

Relief. His fingers twitched, pins and needles prickling at them.

Relief. But how could that be, when he’d been the one about to pull the trigger?

‘Sniper? Sniper? Are you alright?’

RED Spy.

He fell to his knees next to Sniper, hand settling on his shoulder.

‘Sniper. It’s okay, he’s dead. Give me the gun. Please give me the gun, Sniper.’

Then came a strain of regret at the missed opportunity, a wire wrapped around Sniper’s chest tighter and tighter and tighter until it snapped—as RED Spy leaned over and gently pulled the SMG away.

It was over.

Sniper couldn’t tell if BLU Spy had won or not. He certainly hadn’t, not with his secret dangling over him like a guillotine held up by one string.

‘Medic’s on his way,’ RED Spy said, giving Sniper’s shoulder a squeeze.

Shame. That was what followed next. Shame and embarrassment. There had been something painfully inevitable to BLU Spy being here. RED Spy and Medic seeing him this way though…

Knowing what he’d been about to do...

 

'Spy!' Sniper looked up as Medic jogged over, out of breath, his medigun clutched tight in his hands. It would have amused Sniper to see him in his burgundy dressing gown instead of his usual white lab coat under any other circumstances.

'Sniper! Are you okay? I came as soon as I heard the gunshot. What happened?'

'I—' Sniper started, hopelessly lost for words.

'That was me. I shot the BLU before he could shoot Sniper. He was too busy gloating to notice me,' Spy interjected.

Not the truth. Not exactly.

Medic turned the medigun on Sniper. 'Thank God you found them, Spy! Sniper, the BLU found a way to take you out of respawn. If he'd killed you...'

'I—' Sniper said again. Despite the calming, healing medigun fumes washing over him, his hands were still shaking. His brain wasn't working properly. He couldn't think of a reply.

'He knows,' RED Spy said. 'That's what the BLU was gloating about.'

Sniper turned towards Spy. They made eye contact for a second. Spy shook his head a fraction.

He knew, didn't he? He'd managed to work out who had really taken Sniper out of respawn. What the SMG meant. What Sniper had been about to do.

The SMG had disappeared, Sniper noticed. Spy had hidden it from Medic.

Sniper hoped Spy would never ask him questions about their new little secret.

'I hate that man,' Medic said. 'Detest him. I'm going straight to the Administrator about this and next time I see him, I'm going to run him through with my rustiest bonesaw.'

'You know how much the Administrator hates being disturbed at weekends,' Spy said.

'You mean at all,' Medic snapped back.

'Yes. Let me handle this, Medic. I know how to appeal to her... Well I'm not sure if she had a better side, but I know how to appeal.'

Sniper made a muffled little hiccuping sound then, not quite a laugh, but something close. Being over-healed by the medigun was making him feel buzzed and energetic, while emotionally, he was exhausted. It was an uncomfortable mix.

'Well you talked to her last time but the BLU Spy was still here to take one of our teammates out of respawn!'

'If my last meeting with the Administrator was anything to go by, he was on his last chance. I can get him reassigned, at the very least. If not, I'll quit.'

'Ha! What will she care?' Medic asked, turning off the medigun.

'Easier to move a Spy to another base than hire a new one.'

Exhaustion sunk into Sniper's bones as the medigun fumes dissipated. He stopped paying attention to Medic and Spy's disagreement, their voices fading into a distant buzzing as he stared off into the trees blankly.

It was almost fully light now. The forest looked so shaded and peaceful. Unending. Inviting. He could get up now and start walking and keep on walking forever.

Death no longer looked like the only option, but life still held little appeal.

The BLU Spy always got what he wanted. He was good at his job and could be charming when he needed to be. If he didn't want to leave, he'd find a way not to.

Sniper couldn't go on living like this. The trees blurred together. He blinked. He couldn't leave though. His only window for escape was now, with his respawn module down.

There were other weapons in his van.

But he couldn't do it, Sniper realised. Not now there was a chance that maybe, just maybe, Spy was right and he could get the BLU removed from his life. Sniper thought that he might be able to cope with these endless battles, and feeling more like property than a person, and the memory of being beaten to within an inch of his life, and a dead fiancée he might never get resolution on, and a teammate who thought he was better off dead, if only the BLU Spy were to disappear forever.

Medic drew Sniper's attention back to the present by throwing his arms up in the air and saying, 'fine! Fine! Do it. It's too early to be dealing with this. Since Sniper's alright, I'm going back to bed.'

Medic didn't know, that was for sure. It annoyed Sniper, strangely. As much as he hated the idea of anyone else knowing what he'd been prepared to do, it struck a raw nerve that Medic's priority was lost sleep, and not how close one of his teammates and charges had come from stepping ending it all.

'Thank you, Medic,' Spy said with more decorum. 'I apologise for dragging you out of bed.'

Medic huffed and waved Spy away. 'You were right to, if Sniper had been mortally wounded, no one else would have been able to save him.'

They were talking as though Sniper wasn't even there. As though he hadn't- as though he hadn't almost...

Sniper dragged himself to his feet. Spy's attention immediately snapped back to him. 'I'm going to bed too,' he said. 'I've had enough of today already and it hasn't even really started yet.'

Sniper wanted to sleep for the next twenty years and only wake up when the world agreed to be kind to him, or else had forgotten about his existence altogether.

‘I will see you both later then,’ Medic said, before heading back to the bed

'May I have a word with you?' Spy asked as soon as Medic was out of earshot.

'Can't it wait?' Sniper replied. ''M not really in a talking mood.'

He knew he should be nicer to Spy after what he'd done but he was too fed-up for niceties.

'Yes, it can wait,' Spy said. 'But I think you might sleep better if I talk to you now.'

Sniper shrugged and gave a small nod. He didn't have it in him to feel curious right now.

'Lead the way then, Sniper.'

'I—what?'

Sniper couldn't think of what to do or say. Spy knew. He knew. Sniper owed him but why couldn't Spy just leave him be?'

'To your camper van. Unless you plan on spending the rest of the morning in the base?'

'No.' Sniper forced himself to move. Each step away from that spot, each step back to his home, felt more like the walk to the gallows than away from it.

 

As soon as he shut the door behind them, Sniper said, 'Don't say anything, okay? Just don't— just. I can't—' He'd already admitted so much weakness in front of Spy, he couldn't stand to admit more. That was, if he could even work out how to explain why he'd been about to do what he'd been about to do.

'About what, Sniper?' Spy asked innocently. As he did he, he reached into his jacket and removed the SMG tucked under his arm and placed it on the counter. It couldn't have been the most effective hiding place but Sniper hadn't spotted it and he didn't think Medic had either.

Sniper refused to look at it. He refused to look at Spy. His crossed his arms, shoulders hunched, eyes on the scuffed linoleum floor.

'Sniper, if you want to talk about it—'

'I don't,' Sniper said firmly. Not now, not ever.

'Then let us discuss these instead,' Spy said as he reached back into his jacket. This time he pulled out a handful of small sheets of paper and held them out to Sniper. Sniper paused, reluctantly uncrossed his arms again, and took them.

He hadn't thought it was possible to feel any lower than he already did, but there was his mugshot staring back at, under the headline of: Killer Aussie Sentenced to Life.

Sniper had never seen this article before. Didn't even know what paper it was from.

The others were similar, though a couple looked like internal police reports or official records. They were shaking in Sniper's hands too much for him to make out any more.

'It's not like that,' he said, voice cracking. 'It wasn't like that. I never wanted anything to ever harm her. I loved her.'

Love. A word he'd always struggled with, blurted out here, heart and wrists bared.

'Every one of us in RED has our secrets,' Spy said, moving to slowly take the articles off Sniper. Sniper let him. 'We all have things we regret. You know one of mine.'

Yes. A mistake made. A mission completed. A pat on the back for a job well done and eight tattoos needled into his arm so he could never forget.

'I think I found all of them,' Spy said as he folded the articles up and tucked them back in his pocket. 'He had them hidden in places where you were the most likely to stumble across them, so you might find another one or two, possibly. But I hope not.'

'Right.'

'But if anyone else were to find them...it wouldn’t be the end of the world, Sniper.'

Easy for him to say, it wasn't his deepest, darkest, most painful secret.

'We're all killers here.'

'It wasn't like that,' Sniper repeated. The wound the BLU Spy's disguise had left in his chest hurt too much for Sniper to explain what he knew of the truth all over again.

'It rarely is,' Spy said. Whether or not that was a dismissal or an agreement, Sniper neither knew nor cared.

'I'm going to go back to sleep now, Spy.' Or at least, back to bed. As tired as he was, sleep felt an eternity away.

'Of course.' Spy turned to leave, then paused. 'Launching a campaign of harassment beyond the usual bounds. Attacking you outside of the battlefield. Misuse of company assets. Trespassing in the enemy base. ...Influencing your removal from respawn. Mann.co won't allow anyone to disrespect its rules to this extent. Not even a spy. Not even Christophe.'

Christophe. What a normal, mundane, _human_ name.

Christophe.

Sniper swallowed. 'But...but if they find out, what I did. What I tried to do...' What would the consequences be? What would they even class this as, attempted destruction of company property? How many extra years would it add to his contract?

'Just because I will be passing on the truth, doesn't mean I will necessarily be telling them the _whole_ truth.'

They'd figure it out though, wouldn't they? It looked like none of the skeleton's in Sniper's closet wanted to stay there.

'But I've taken up enough of your time as it is, Sniper,' Spy continued. 'I will leave you to it now. But if you ever _do_ have anything you wish to discuss...'

'Yeah,' Sniper said, though it was really a 'nah.'

'Tomorrow's another day, Sniper. Would be a shame to miss it.'

'Yeah.'

And then Spy was gone.

But he left behind him that little ember of hope that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be better than yesterday.

 

Despite his expectations, Sniper fell asleep minutes after he lay his head back on his pillow and wrapped himself up in a cocoon of blankets.

He dreamt of chasing Michelle through a sun-dappled forest. Her laughter echoed through the trees but no matter how desperately Sniper called for her to slow down, he never caught a glimpse of her. Finally, the trees parted and he stumbled to a stop on the edge of a cliff. A chasm stretched from his feet to the far horizon, the bottom unknown fathoms below him. Michelle's laughter echoed back to him once again. The only way to be with her was to fall.

Nath turned away from the chasm and walked back into the sun-dappled woods.

Somewhere nearby, a bird began to sing.

 

BLU Spy's snapped open. The blank wall of the respawn room met his eyes, the machine's gentle hum filling his ears.

Dread clenched his heart in its fist. For a moment, he didn't know why. Then it came back.

RED Sniper.

His Sniper.

The disguise.

The truth.

The gun.

A game gone too far.

A plan fallen to pieces.

A _man_ fallen to pieces.

BLU Spy bent forward, a fist pressed to his chest, eyes wide.

His Sniper-

His Sniper.

Nathaniel!

'Oh, Spy, So nice of you to have joined us at last.'

The BLU Spy blinked. Medic stood in the doorway. He looked so small without the Heavy there with him, his smirk frail and un-intimidating.

BLU Spy elbowed him out the way without a word, stalking back to his room without a word. Medic's swearing and threats echoed weakly after him.

He had one hour. BLU Spy's hands shook slightly as he unlocked the door. One hour until he'd know. No point asking his teammates, they wouldn't have the answers.

Unless the match had been cancelled?

They wouldn't be forced to fight nine-to-eight, would they?

Yes, of course they would. It had happened before.

One hour. One hour.

Sniper wouldn't have. _Couldn't_ have.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't _allowed_ to happen.

The BLU Spy slammed his bedroom door shut and fought his way out of his clothes.

One hour to get washed and changed and ready for the battle.

One hour to ponder, for once, the consequences of his actions.

 

'Mission begins in three! Two! One!'

Finally. The hour had dragged on longer than any he’d known before.

Spy shot out of respawn faster than he had ever done.

'Someone's keen,' Scout muttered. The Scout was used to being the first one out the gate every day. He wondered, briefly, what the Spy was up to and what he'd done to get himself stuck in respawn over the weekend, but remembering the conversation he'd had with his team's Sniper a while back, he decided he'd rather not know.

 

Spy had to know.

Spy had to know.

Where was he? Where to look?

He died in a hail of minigun fire as his cloak flickered out without him noticing.

Then the Pyro got him, taking advantage of how little attention he paid as he shot out of respawn.

He didn't even bother trying to stop the enemy Scout as he ran passed with the briefcase as soon as he next respawned. He got a leg full of scattergun pellets for his troubles and had to hobble back inside for a medipack.

This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. He had to know!

'Have you seen him?' he gasped, grabbing hold of Engineer's shoulder.

Engineer almost dropped the scrap he'd been gathering to replace his last sentry. 'Seen who?'

'The Sniper!' Spy hissed. Of course the Sniper, who else?'

'Uh, think the enemy Spy got him just now. He might not have come through yet.'

'No!' Spy couldn't stand it, couldn't stand another day trapped with the morons he was forced to call his teammates. 'The other Sniper!'

'Uh, no. Don't think I have,' Engineer said, pulling himself free of Spy's bruising grip. 'Been guarding the Intelligence, you know. Someone has to try and do it.'

The Spy let him go and left to try and find his Sniper again. He had to be here. Had to.

The Spy strained his ears for that familiar crackof his Sniper's rifle. His heart leapt when he spotted an arrow sticking out of the side of a building, but he had no idea how long it had been there.

Where was he? Where was he?

Snipers could be so hard to find until they gave themselves away.

_And dead men have no tells..._

Finally, _finally,_ Spy heard it. He heard the crack of a rifle ring out, heard a distant scream, and his heart seemed to float as light as a cloud. That had come from the RED side of the base.

BLU Spy prayed, for the first time in too many years to count, that that had been the sound of _his_ Sniper.

He turned and ran for the most likely building, not caring how much sound his feet made on the wooden boards or how his cloak fizzled out halfway there.

He searched the building from top to bottom. No sign.

His Sniper wasn't in the barn next door.

Or in the old water tower along from that.

Or in the abandoned workshop behind it.

Or-or-

Spy threw himself up the stairs of next building along and burst into the first room on the right. A perfect sniping spot, with a row of broken windows along one side and a good view across the main bridge.

And there-

And there he was.

After all this chasing around.

After all this panic.

His Sniper looked up with a startled glance. They both froze, studying each other intently.

He was fine.

He was fine.

Of course he was.

Of course he wouldn't-

And even if he had, why should Spy have felt any guilt for it? It wouldn't have been his fault. It would have been his Sniper's.

His Sniper placed his rifle down. Reached for his kukri. Stood up.

Spy stayed where he was, light-headed and giddy.

Sniper was fine. He'd been so worried. Sniper's fault. It had all just been a game. No need to take it so far. No need to try and end it permanently.

Sniper stepped towards him, circling around to the left as though he were a wild horse that might shy away any moment.

They continued to stare at each other.

His Sniper's expression was hard to read under those tinted glasses and that hat that was similar to his last but not similar enough. Spy wanted to take them off. Strip them away. Expose his Sniper, every last raw edge.

But he'd already done that, hadn't he? And look where it had led...

His Sniper approached him. Slowly.

He couldn't move.

Sniper was alive. It was fine. He was alive.

How could Sniper have put him through this? Made him worry so much. But it was alright. He was alright. Spy could forgive him.

'I—' Spy started, the rest of the words lodged in his throat like shrapnel. He what?

Sniper stepped in close. Stepped in close. Chose, for once, to be close to Spy.

Sniper's expression finally changed, shifting into something wild and vicious and desperate.

Spy's breath caught in his throat.

Then it was punched out of him as Sniper slammed his kukri into Spy's stomach. Spy let out a shaky cry. Why had Sniper done that? Why had his Sniper done that?

They were so close now. Sniper could have leaned forward and kissed him. Instead, Sniper had run him through, the point of the kukri sticking out of his back.

Spy's mouth moved, but no words came out.

He reached a hand up, trembling fingers brushing against the edge of Sniper's sleeve.

Then everything faded.

 

Sniper wrenched his kukri out of Spy's body with a damp, gristly sound. He let the BLU Spy crumple to the ground. Dead or dying, Sniper didn't care. His teeth were clenched, adrenaline pumping, blood singing.

He turned away from the BLU Spy for a moment then wheeled around and kicked him in his side with all the force he could muster.

It might have hurt, but if it did, Sniper didn't notice. The Spy rolled over limply. Dead then.

'And you fuckin—fucking deserved that!' Sniper shouted. 'You deserve every fucking shitty little thing that ever happens to you! You deserve to be shot and drowned and burnt alive and blown to pieces, and you will be! You will be! But not here any more!' Sniper let out a giddy whoop, staggering backwards slightly as though drunk.

'Not any more!' He spat on the ground next to the BLU Spy's head. Sniper had kicked him over so his face was exposed, glassy, lifeless eyes staring back at Sniper just as he'd stared before he died, as though seeing a ghost.

'Not any more.'

Not after this week, at least. RED Spy had confirmed it this morning. Sniper wondered if the BLU Spy even knew yet.

Sniper could survive one more week of the BLU Spy's presence. And after he was gone, Sniper wasn't _ever_ going to allow _anyone_ that kind of power over him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, if you follow me on Tumblr or have read my Tumblr prompts ficlet collection, you might be thinking, 'Christophe? I thought his name was Renard? Which is his real name?' but that's a matter for another time. (Spoiler: it's neither.)


	55. Closure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, the last chapter of Foe Yay short of the epilogue, and my one-day-late Christmas present to you all.  
> I've commissioned some fantastic art from my friend Kaen over at [kaen-jane.deviantart.com](https://kaen-jane.deviantart.com/) that I can't wait to share with you part way through this chapter :)

Sniper didn't spot the BLU Spy even once the rest of the match. However, when he retired to his van after a round of celebratory drinks over RED team's win, Sniper found something waiting for him.

A blank brown envelope lying on his countertop.

Sniper stiffened, his eyes darted around the small room, searching for signs of a break in or missing possessions. Everything looked as he'd left it; the lock appeared undamaged and everything else seemed to be where he expected it to be.

Sniper crept forward, approaching the envelope as though it might contain a bomb.

Gingerly, he picked it up by one corner, and after pausing to peer through his windows for any sign of watchers, flicked it over. The other side was as blank as the first. He'd get no further information without opening it.

There was a temptation, then, to just throw it away. To chuck the envelope in a river or set it on fire and never have to deal with it.

Sniper had done well out there today, despite all that had come before. He deserved a few moments more happiness and suspected that whatever this envelope contained, it would take that away from him.

If it had been from a teammate, they would have said something. If it had been from his employers, it would have had their red seal.

This could only be from the BLU Spy, and anything he wished the share with Sniper, Sniper didn't want.

Sniper sliced the envelope open carefully with a knife, watching out for hidden wires or razors. Would the BLU Spy stoop that low? Probably.

But not this time. When Sniper shook the contents out onto his counter. A strangely heavy sheet of paper fell out, followed by a note that fluttered to the floor. Sniper picked the note up and flipped it over to read.

_Dear Nathaniel,_

it said at the top in neat, cursive lettering in blue ink.

_I have thought long and hard about this decision and have come to the conclusion that it would be better for us to work at separate bases. The connection we share is simply too volatile; it isn't good for either of our well-beings. As I am the only one of us trusted with the freedom to choose where I wish to work (a luxury not permitted to you by your contract), I have decided to take this responsibility upon my own_ shoulders _._

_I believe that certain other members of your team (not to disparage your co-workers, they are merely attempting to express their concern for you in their own way) have been petitioning to have me removed anyway. Of course, they are unable to comprehend there are always two sides to every story but they are just trying to do what's right by you, which is also what I wish to do._

_So,_ my Nathaniel _. This may well be the last correspondence we ever have between us. While I wish things had gone differently, it does not do to dwell on the past and I advise you not to do so._

_Go out and live, Nathaniel; enjoy your life to its fullest. I know I shall. And maybe one day we will meet again, under more favourable circumstances where we can get to know each other better. I know I have not always played nice but you will find I can be the perfect gentleman when given the chance._

_Fond regards,_

_Renard._

 

Sniper read and re-read the letter until the paper shook in his hands.

'You insane bastard,' he muttered to himself. 'You deluded, narcissistic asshole. You pretentious, self-important, manipulative, crazy, self-indulgent, pompous, pretentious, arrogant mother _fucker!'_

Sniper skimmed back over the note one more time. Their connection? There was no connection! Just the Spy's obsession that he'd wanted nothing to so with from the very start! Two sides to every story? Only over in the Spy's little fantasyland! How, how on _earth_ could he believe his actions had been reasonable at any point whatsoever? How could he think that torture, harassment and attempted blackmail could be chalked down to just 'not playing nice'? Just how wrong in the head could the BLU Spy possibly be?

And signing it off with a fake name. “Renard?” What was the point? He might as well have stuck with his class title, for all it mattered. Sniper didn't give a shit what his name was, so why bother replacing “The BLU Spy” with another facade?

And how? How the _hell_ could he believe that there was any chance of a future where might bump into each other again and Sniper fall for him? No amount of 'being a perfect gentleman' could ever begin to erase a single thing the BLU Spy had done.

Sniper screwed the note into a little ball, scrunching it up as tightly as possible, teeth clenched together. He threw it in the sink and snatched up a lighter.

It helped, marginally, to watch the letter burn. But Sniper was still seething inside.

Because.

_Because._

Because on top of everything else, the BLU Spy had taken the choice for himself. Again and again, he'd dictated their interactions, dictated what impact he would have on Sniper's life. And here, he'd done it again, one last time. He'd taken away the victory that belonged to Sniper and RED Spy in getting rid of the BLU forever, and claimed it for his own.

Sniper felt cheated. But even as bitter anger ran through him, a hint of relief followed in its wake.

It was over. Regardless of who had finally made the decision, it was over.

Sniper's shoulders slumped, tension easing out of his muscles. It was over. He sighed heavily, leaning against his sink. It was over. As long as the note wasn't some stupid trick, it was finally over. He never had to interact with the BLU Spy ever again. He was free.

There was another sheet of paper on his counter, Sniper remembered, straightening up. The note had chased all thought of it away. How much worse could this one be?

Sniper picked it up gingerly by a paperclip and turned it over. Under the paperclip was another, short note from the BLU Spy. Sniper read it with a frown.

_I knew the truth, even before you told me._

_I discovered it during my research._

_But I also discovered more than you know._

_I thought you should have this information, for_ closure _._

_-Renard_

It had none of the pomp and bluster of the first note, the writing messier, more slanted, as though written in a hurry. Perhaps this wasn't something the Spy had originally intended to leave him. The thought made Sniper nervous, breath catching in the back of his throat. He tugged the note free to read the information and froze.

The note hadn't been the only thing paper clipped to it. Underneath were two photographs.

Sniper stared at the first. It didn't make any sense. It didn't make any sense. _It didn't make any sense._

_“Snakewater BLU Spy, 1963”_ Someone had written at the bottom of the picture.

And above that..

Above that, Michelle pouted at him from the sepia photograph.

Even with the mask covering her face, there was no mistaking her. There were her full lips pulled into a mocking little smile, her delicate eyebrows raised as though to dare the photographer to say a word about a woman in a mask and suit.

It didn't make any sense.

It couldn't be real.

This was fake.

Had to be.

But there was another photograph next to the first, one that was so _real,_ so clearly _her,_ in normal clothes and with such a familiar expression on her face that there was no doubting that one was real.

Sniper's heart beat uncomfortably fast as his eyes darted between the two photographs, searching for any hint the first image was doctored, for any clue that it was a lie, a fake.

_Her hair!_ Sniper snatched hold of the inconsistency and held it close. There's no way all that hair could possibly fit under the mask. But... the second image had _“Circa 1968”_ written on it. Enough time for it to grow back.

Sniper felt numb and distant, as though he was watching a movie in which the main character received some terrible, earth-shattering news. This wasn't happening to him, but to someone else entirely, someone far away and unimportant.

Sniper didn't have to care about this. He didn't need to think about it. It was someone else's problem. He could throw away the paper and never have to know.

Because Sniper knew it couldn't last. The minute he started to read, he'd come crashing back to earth and the impact would shatter him.

Sniper took a deep breath, nerves fluttering at the back of his mind. He tugged the two photographs free, one so familiar, one so alien, and set them close by. He turned and leant back against his counter so his body didn't block the van light above him.

The piece of paper was a Frankenstein's monster of a thing; a photocopied mess of typed and handwritten notes, sections redacted on the original and turned fuzzy-edged by the copying.

_Michelle Laurent,_ it said at the top.

No, that wasn't right. Her surname was Parker

_Known Aliases:_

_Mary-Rose Ashfield_

_Barbara Couture_

_Hannah Armel_

_Molly Louise Thomson_

_Michelle Hunter_

_Michelle Ancel_

_Michelle Parker_

Michelle Parker...

Sniper stared at the name until it blurred. Michelle Parker. Known Aliases. Michelle Parker. Snakewater BLU Spy, 1963.

Michelle. _His_ Michelle.

_Known/Suspected Organisations:_

_DOFB_

_SDECE_

_TGOS_

_TBL_

_NNEA_

Sniper's eyes passed blankly over the acronyms. They meant nothing to him. Except, wasn't the second something to do with French counter-espionage and wasn't the fourth...

Wasn't the fourth...

The Black List. The same people Sniper had worked for. The same people he'd killed for.

Sniper shook his head fiercely. No. This made no sense.

Michelle had been a manager at a local clothing store, she'd not been a _Spy._ She'd been so friendly and gregarious and fun and laid-back and completely _normal_ in a way Sniper could never have hoped to be. She'd been his rock, his anchor, his one reliable thing in life and she'd never made a fuss when his “work” took him away from home for days at a time and she'd said _yes_ to marrying him. She'd loved him. She'd said so.

The paper shook in Sniper's hands.

The rest of the page was a mass of photocopied segments and scrawled notes. Sniper's eyes passed over them feverishly, picking out fragments as he desperately searched for what he wanted. What he needed. The answers to the questions that had been eating him alive since the day Michelle died.

_Her French father...first mission...Russian diplomat...suspected to have been the thief behind...8_ _th_ _of the third, 1960...mission parameters...honey pot...political assassination...embassy raid...single-handedly disarmed five men...only one to survive..._

Sniper's eyes reached the bottom of the page, where a series of notes in an achingly familiar handwriting had been cobbled together.

_-First contact with target acquired. He appears suitably charmed. Hasn’t had a relationship since he came to the country. Should be_ easy _._

That could be anyone, Sniper assured himself.

 

_-Target was pleased to see me again. Has invited me out for drinks._

Anybody.

 

_-Target made no attempts to sleep with me on first date but that appears to be due to social awkwardness, not lack of interest._

Too scared to even hold her hand. Brimming with nervous energy. The buzz of alcohol hitting his bloodstream, emboldening him. Their first electric kiss. Wanting to ask for more but not daring.

 

No. That could be anyone

 

_-Target has let me into his home. No mention of TBL, claims to do odd jobs._

Michelle perched on the edge of his sofa. Tatty old thing, but comfortable. Plenty of room for when kissing turned to something more.

And what else could he have said? No one would have believed he was clever enough to be needed in different places all the time as a manager or director or specialist engineer.

 

No...

 

_-Things are now official with the target. I am staying over every weekend._

Lazy Saturday mornings, her hair fanning across the pillow. Breakfast in bed. Hangovers and gentle jibes about snoring. Debates about wearing socks in bed and a pillow thrown at his head when he joked Michelle’s new dress _did_ make her bum look big.

 

It couldn’t be...

 

_-Living with the target now. He makes attempts to hid TBL affiliation but is a poor liar. Definite security risk._

Never a good liar. Never good at lying to Michelle. He had never wanted to.

 

Someone else, surely. Anybody else. Oh God, just let it be anybody else.

 

_-Target attempting to leave TBL confirmed. Awaiting orders._

The evening out to their favourite place in town. Nothing fancy but the food was good and the serving staff, excellent.

Michelle’s earrings catching the light as she’d turned to great him, a ring in his pocket and his Mum’s excited gasp still ringing in his ears. _‘Oh, Nat! I’m so happy for you! She’ll say yes, I know she will!’_

Sniper had never been so happy in his life as when she did. He told her about his new job as a tattoo artist, promising the days of him having to disappear off to do his ‘odd jobs’ were over forever.

They’d been so happy. So blissfully happy. Until the morning shortly after when Sniper woke to his fiancee coming at him with a knife. He’d been so happy, until Michelle received her orders.

 

Sniper pressed a hand to his chest. It _hurt._ It hurt more than a thousand backstabs combined. It hurt more than the BLU Spy’s disguise. It hurt more than anything Sniper had ever known. It was like losing her all over again, but Michelle's betrayal cut deeper than her knife ever had. Because...

Because…

Because all those happy little moments, all those fond memories, all those anecdotes shared and secrets told and the times he’d made Michelle laugh until she cried, they’d all been a lie.

The page blurred in front of Sniper’s eyes. He blinked hard. He still couldn’t see.

All a lie. All a sham, every little moment of it. The love of his life had just been a honeypot trap set-up by the ruthless people he worked for when they’d suspected he might try and leave them. And it had been her he’d left them for in the end. He’d fallen straight into the trap. He’d proven his loyalties could be swayed by the first pretty woman to befriend him.

Sniper let the page slip out of his hands. He pressed his hands against his chest. It hurt. His heart hurt. Sniper felt like his heart might be about to be crushed under the weight of the truth.

She’d never loved him. Michelle had never loved him. He’d given her everything he had and had been willing to give her so much more. And all he’d ever been to her was ‘the target.’ Not Nath or Nat or Nathaniel or even Mr Mundy. Just the Target.

Sniper swallowed. There was a hard lump in his throat constricting it, making it hard to breathe. The van blurred more each time he blinked.

Nathaniel Mundy was not the crying type. For all the things he’d been through the last few years, the last few months, he’d never cried. Not since he received his life sentence over four years ago, and even then, he’d been crying for Michelle, not for himself.

Nathaniel Mundy was not the crying type. His breath caught in his throat, halfway to a sob. He screwed his eyes up tight, hands pressing harder and harder against his chest as though he could cancel out the ache if he just tried hard enough.

Nathaniel Mundy was not the crying type, but he couldn’t stop the sob that tore up through his throat. He tried to fight it for a moment more, but it was no good. Hot tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks and once they started, Nath couldn’t stop them. He bent forward, still clutching at his chest, a wild, broken sound escaping him.

‘Oh God, Michelle,’ he said to the empty room, voice thick and wavering. ‘Oh God, why?’

His legs were shaking too much to support him. Nath slid down the side of the counter to the floor. He pulled off his tear-flecked glasses and tossed them aside. He rubbed his sleeve across his face and sniffed, trying to force himself back under control.

_Man up,_ Nath told himself. _Stop being such a baby. It’s not like..it’s not like.._

It wasn’t as though he’d lost anything new. She was already dead. It shouldn’t hurt this much. It shouldn’t.

Nath swallowed against the lump in his throat and thought for a moment that he might be able to get ahold of himself. Then another wave of abject despair swamped him, tearing a sob out of him with each breath. Nath squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears escaping.

Because what a fool he’d been. What a complete and utter fool. What kind of idiot must he have been to ever, ever think, someone else might love someone like him? What a fool. What a fool he’d been. All those months. He should have known. There was no one else to blame but him. He should have known.

Nath gave in. He let go of the shame he felt in crying, overwhelmed by the bitter, hopeless, despair. By the truth. By the reality of his own life. By all he’d been through lately but never allowed himself to cry over. By the years lost in jail. By the years lost to asking why why why had the love of his life tried to kill him? By the rift gouged between him and his parents because of his crime. By everything he'd ever known falling to pieces around him.

By the time the sobbing finally subsided and the tears finally stopped, it felt to Nath as though weeks must have passed. He sniffed, wiping tears away on an already sodden sleeve. His sinuses hurt, his head pounded,his eyes puffy, his throat and chest sore. But it was over. All those things he’d kept locked in tight for so long had finally escaped, like Pandora opening the box. All he was left with was a tired, empty feeling and the urge to curl up to go to sleep and never wake up.

But at the same time, a tiny part of Nath felt relieved to have finally got all of that out. The truth was a raw wound right now, one he had to give time. But maybe the old ones could finally start to heal, now he’d gained closure.

Closure. That’s what this was. Hideous, painful closure. The answer to the question that had haunted him for so long. The truth.

Nath dragged himself up to bed and rested his throbbing head and closed his aching eyes. RED Spy’s words echoed in his head.

_‘Tomorrow’s another day, Sniper. Would be a shame to miss it.’_

Nath knew he’d never again be the man who’d stepped into his van this evening. He could never unread what he’d read. He could never un-know what he knew, and it would hurt him for a long time to come.

But now he had closure at last and tomorrow was another day. When he woke up, the birds would be singing, Nath would know the truth, and he would never have to fight the BLU Spy ever again.

Would be a shame to miss it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue should hopefully be up around New Year's Eve/Day. I'll see you guys then, but if you've enjoyed taking this long journey along with me, please do stop by and leave a note! I'm keen to hear your thoughts. And if you haven't enjoyed it, then, well, what on earth are you still doing here?
> 
> But no, this isn't the end! Not entirely.


	56. Epilogue

BLU Spy watched despondently as landscape change slowly from rocky, fir-covered mountains to desert plains and orange gorges.

He wasn't a fan of the oppressive heat of bases such as the one he was travelling to.

The train rocked and creaked underneath him, along a rail-line that would have looked abandoned and disused to anybody else. With good reason.

The BLU Spy hated these trains. Hated the smell and the noise and how even standing inside one made his suit feel instantly grubby. And he hated them for taking him further and further away from his Sniper.

But this was the right thing to do, BLU Spy knew that.

Really, Sniper should have been the one to leave, as he'd been the issue here. But Spy had been the one with the freedom to move. The freedom to make the right choice.

Creating a pressure point on the Sniper had been educational. Finding out all those little details about his past had just been part of a spy's job. Targeting him during battles had let his team roam the battlefield without fear of being sniped. Kissing him and breaking into his van during the night had helped distract and demoralise him, reducing his effectiveness out on the battlefield. And those nasty, lingering deaths... Well, BLU Spy had to find a way of relieving pent up aggression and tension.

It was just that, when all those things were added up together, BLU Spy had to admit that they did seem just a little...unprofessional. The RED Sniper had had an affect on him. Had created some kind of...madness in him.

The Sniper was to blame. It hurt to leave him behind, but this would be for the best, for both of them.

Even if it meant BLU Spy was going to be pushing a bomb out in a desert canyon again.

 

After a couple more hours, the train finally slowed down to a long, screeching halt like a baby whale's first attempt at playing the violin.

He lit a fresh cigarette as he stepped off the empty train onto a tiny, dusty little platform. To his surprise, the platform wasn't empty. When he opened the door, he found another man standing outside it, clutching a small suitcase. A man wearing the same suit, mask and tie as him.

BLU Spy's lips pulled back into a faint sneer around the cigarette as he looked the other BLU Spy up and down.

Whereas he was the perfect mixture of slim and muscular, this spy was far too skinny. RED Heavy would snap him in half with his bare hands. He was shorter too, and younger. Experienced, quite possibly. Certainly less experienced at the least.

He looked like he might have been a bit of a pretty boy at some point, with those bright blue eyes, long dark lashes and heart-shaped face. It satisfied BLU Spy to see the heavy shadows under his eyes, the nasty scar under one that could only be a cigarette burn, and the thin scar cutting through his opposite eyebrow.

Not so pretty any more. Not so eye catching. Less likely to catch a certain Sniper's eye at least, he was sure. Jealousy snapped its jaws tight around BLU Spy's heart. When the other spy proffered a hand to shake, he ignored it.

He blew a cloud of smoke at his predecessor, before taking the cigarette out to ask, 'Badwater's Spy?'

The other Spy nodded tightly, but said nothing.

'Not a place for a first-rate Spy but I'm sure I can make the most of the situation.' In truth, he desperately wanted to ask what was so wrong about the base for this other Spy to have been so eager to swap places with him, but that would have meant acknowledging there were things he didn't know.

The BLU Spy stayed where he was, taking up most of the doorway, forcing the other spy to step around him. Only then did he disembark.

He stopped then, uncertainty nipping at the back of his head.

'Oh, one last thing,' he said, turning around.

The other spy paused, his grip on his suitcase visibly tightening, but he didn't look back.

'Just a quick warning for you, one BLU Spy to another... The RED Sniper. I wouldn't get too close to him, if I were you.'

 

Double Cross's new BLU Spy stood frozen, chest constricted, as the train doors slid closed behind him.

_NO._

_No no no._

_Not again._

He couldn't cope with that all over again. He couldn't face it.

What had he let himself in for this time?

Was he ever going to finally escape this, the devil on his back?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by my awesome friend, [Nasty Lady!](http://nastylady.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And that's Foe Yay wrapped up at last o.o  
> Wow. I never ever expected it to get this big, both in length and in the amount of support the fandom has given me for it. How did any of this happen?  
> I have to give a huge thank you to all the wonderful people who have produced art for it along the way; you guys have completely blown me away both with your talent and your interest in creating works of art based off this strange little story of mine.  
> Thanks too goes to all of you who have posted nice comments, whether you've been cheering me along since day one or just binge-read the fic the other day.  
> And of course, a massive thanks goes to the people who have proof read and helped edit the fic. It wouldn't be the story it is today without you guys (and it would have a whole lot more typos!)  
> A special thank you goes to the boyfriend as well, especially for all his help with those pesky chapter titles.
> 
> Nath's story will continue in The Devil on Your Back, but first I intend to go and re-read this whole fic to see what I've forgotten and what typos I can find to fix. My time frames are always wrong so I won't try and give you an approximation of when the sequel will start but I'm excited to write it :)  
> I will see you guys again then! I hope you've enjoyed the fic.  
> Which I never did manage to rename...


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